by Ellis, Tim
‘Richards?’
‘Oh hello, is that DI Parish?’
He felt like saying, ‘No, it’s Constable Parish of Yorkshire’, but instead he said, ‘Yes, who’s this?’
‘Assistant Commissioner Tindall.’
‘Oh, sorry Ma’m.’
‘The Chief Constable came back earlier, and he wants to see you and Constable Richards at ten o’clock tomorrow morning at his house.’
He wrote down the address and postcode on the pad by the phone. ‘I hope Richards will be with me, but I’ve lost her at the moment.’
‘That’s a bit careless, Inspector.’
‘I know, and it’s Constable now by the way, Constable Parish of Beck Hole in Yorkshire.’
‘I’m sorry?’
He told her what had happened at the discipline hearing, and she laughed until he thought she might have a heart attack. ‘I’m glad you find it hilarious, Ma’am.’
‘Sorry Inspector... Constable, but someone’s having a joke at your expense.’
‘It all seemed real to me.’
‘Well, we’ll discuss it at the Chief Constable’s house tomorrow morning.’
‘Okay, Ma’am.’
Crap! So much for the meeting at ten o’clock! Now he’d have to ring round everybody and... And what? Well, he wouldn’t know until he’d had his meeting with the Chief Constable. For all he knew, he could be languishing in a cell without any shoelaces, belt, or tie by five past ten. In the cells next to him would be Kowalski, Ed, Toadstone, and... maybe Richards and Catherine, if he could find them. If they weren’t already... No, he couldn’t even contemplate that idea.
‘Who...?’
He told her what AC Paula Tindall had said.
‘So, we won’t be going to Yorkshire after all?’
‘I wouldn’t pack just yet. Let’s wait and see what he says when he finds out what’s been going on.’
‘So, where’re Mary and Catherine?’
‘I haven’t got the faintest idea.’ He went into the kitchen, picked up his Blackberry, and rang Richards’ number. After two rings it went to her voicemail.
‘This is your exasperated boss, Richards. It’s ten to eight on Friday evening. I’m at home- where are you? Ring me.’
He rang Catherine’s number, and it went to voicemail again. ‘Where the hell are you, Catherine? Ring me.’
He checked his messages and found one from Toadstone containing the manipulated suspect pictures, but he didn’t look at them.
‘They’ll be all right, won’t they?’ Angie said.
‘She said she was coming straight home. Why would she deviate from the plan? She knows she shouldn’t deviate without ringing me.’
‘Catherine’s older, more sensible; she’ll stop Mary doing something stupid, won’t she?’
‘I’m not so sure. You know Mary, once she gets it in her head to do something...’
‘Do what?’
‘If I knew, I’d know where they were.’
An idea came to him. He found the Yellow Pages, looked up the Chigwell Herald under newspapers, and rang the number.
Angie looked on nervously.
‘Hello, night editor.’
‘Is that, Gary?’
‘Depends who’s asking?’
‘Detective Inspector Parish.’ Was he still a DI? Had the punishment taken effect already, or did he revert to Constable from Monday morning at eight o’clock?
‘I thought I was getting some pictures?’
‘Didn’t Catherine send them to you?’
‘Did she fuck! I’m seriously pissed off with her. After me working my nuts off to add a front page, she lets me...’
‘Catherine and my partner are missing. She was sent the pictures at quarter to five, and she should have relayed them to you. Something’s happened to prevent her doing that.’
‘God, I hope...’
‘Yes, so do I,’ Parish said. ‘Is it too late for the front page?’
‘Sorry, yeah. I waited until the very last minute, but in the end I had to go with what I had.’
‘Okay, thanks, Gary.’
‘You’ll...’
‘If I find her I’ll get her to give you a ring.’
‘Thanks.’
‘Where is she, Jed?’
‘A coffee would be good.’ He rang Kowalski.
‘Tell me you’re ringing to wish me a happy birthday?’
‘Richards and Catherine are missing.’
‘Go on?’
He described the details.
‘I’m in Macdonald’s with Jerry and the kids having a slap-up. So, you want me there?’
‘Yes.’
‘I’m on my way. I hate birthday parties anyway, especially mine.’
‘Forty-two?’
‘You’re confused; I’m thirty-nine now.’
‘Can you phone Ed? I’ll ring Toadstone.’
‘Already doing it.’
He rang Toadstone and told him what had happened.
‘I’m on my way, Sir.’
Angie passed him a mug of coffee. ‘With four sugars.’
‘Thanks, I’ll probably need them.’
He went into the backroom. The flipchart papers had been collected up and stuffed under the whiteboard. He took them out and spread them around him on the floor. Richards had used them to re-focus the investigation in various ways. In the centre of one sheet of paper she’d written KILLER(S) in blue in a bubble, and around it were lines shooting off into other different coloured bubbles with titles such as VICTIMS, LOCATIONS, WITNESSES, TRUNKS, and so on. In the centre bubble of the other sheets of paper she had written a different title, and surrounded it with the other titles in bubbles.
She must have found something. He stared at each piece of paper in turn. Why didn’t she say something? Why didn’t she come to him and share her thoughts? They were partners and she hadn’t thought fit to confide in him. He would bloody kill her when he found her.
As far as he could see, he had done everything there was to do within the constraints of an illegal investigation, followed every lead, except...’
What had they found out today? They had two new suspects – Joseph St John and Adrian Alva or Southern. They’d found out that Catherine had been lying and there never was anyone chasing her in Harold Wood Hospital. He had been demoted to Constable and transferred to Yorkshire. The hospital... But why would they go there? And why would Catherine go with her? Was she telling the truth after all? Could Steve Potts be wrong? Is there some way to alter a recording without it being detected?
There were noises coming from the hallway. He popped his head out to see Ed and Toadstone.
‘Toadstone, could that security recording have been altered without Steve Potts having detected it?’
‘I don’t see how, Steve Potts is one of the...’
‘Don’t speculate- ring him and ask him.’
‘Oh, all right, Sir.’
‘It’s Constable now, Toadstone, but you can call me Jed if you want.’
‘I don’t think so, Sir.’
‘Also, see if you can trace Richards’ or Catherine’s phone.’
‘Will do.’
‘Hi, Ed.’
‘So, what’s going on, Sir?’
‘Hang on until Toadstone comes off the phone and Ray arrives.’
‘Jed?’ Angie called from the kitchen.
He went through.
‘Can you carry the flasks through? I’ll bring the milk and sugar.’
‘Sure.’
‘Have you found something?’
‘I think I might know where they’ve gone.’
‘I hope so, but why hasn’t Mary rung? Why...?’
‘Because it might be the very place the killer is using to imprison his victims, and she can’t ring.’
‘And she and Catherine have gone there alone?’
‘Yes, but let’s wait and see, shall we? I could be totally wrong.’
Toadstone finished on the phone. ‘The simple an
swer is- yes. Steve Potts says...’
‘I like simple answers, Toadstone, don’t spoil it. In which case, we haven’t got time for tea and coffee. We’re going to Harold Wood Hospital. What about the phones?’
‘No trace.’
That was something he didn’t want to hear. The only time Richards switched off her phone was to put it on charge. If the phone couldn’t be found by the satellite tracker then the SIM card had been removed, and she wouldn’t have done that.
There was a knock at the door. Ed opened it to find Kowalski there.
‘We’re going out, Ray,’ Parish said. ‘I think they’ve gone to Harold Wood Hospital. I’ll lead with Toadstone; you bring Ed.’
‘Okay, let’s go then.’
‘We need torches, so if you’ve got any in the back of your car, then now would be the time to get them.’
He kissed Angie.
‘You’ll find her?’
‘You know I’ll do everything I can.’
‘I know you will.’
***
Richards opened her eyes slowly. It was as dark as the inside of a coal bunker. Her lips were cracked and dry, and her tongue felt as though it had been used to clean the toilets. She could hear an echo of water dripping somewhere, and smell damp and decay. Where was she? Where was Catherine?
‘Catherine?’
She was freezing, and naked – again. Why did they have to keep taking her clothes off? Her wrists and ankles were tied and she was spread-eagled on something hard and cold. She didn’t think anybody had done anything to her, but she had a feeling it wouldn’t be long before they did.
They had walked through the labyrinthine pathways of Harold Wood Hospital and eventually found the security office. When they knocked on the door it wasn’t Paul Hartson who opened it, but another man with dark hair and good teeth who had the look of an Italian. They went inside and just as they were about to begin asking him about the CCTV system, she and Catherine had both received the photographs from Toadstone on their mobiles.
‘Excuse us,’ she said as she flicked through the pictures. They were very good. The female forensic artist Toadstone employed to do the work had transformed the original sketch into a life-like three-dimensional person.
The security officer had been looking over Catherine’s shoulder, but when she reached the fifth picture he thumped her in the side of the face, and she hit the ground like a sack of potatoes.
‘You’ll be sorry you found Harry,’ he said, pulling a large knife from the inside of his jacket. He made Richards lie face down on the floor. She thought he was going to tie her up, but instead she felt a sharp pain in the side of her neck. Everything began to go black, and that was all she could remember.
She heard a noise. ‘Catherine?’
‘What happened?’
‘I think we found the killers.’
‘Oh God.’
‘I have the feeling God isn’t going to help us.’
‘The side of my face hurts, and why have I got no clothes on?’
‘I’m sure if you think about it, you’ll come up with an answer to that question.’
‘I don’t think I want to.’
‘I’m sorry- we should never have come here.’
‘Jed will save us, won’t he?’
‘How? He has no idea where we are.’
Catherine began crying. ‘We’re going to die horrible deaths, aren’t we?’
Richards didn’t say anything. What could she say? Catherine was probably right. They both knew what was going to happen to them – they would be raped, beaten, strangled, dismembered, and then stuffed in a trunk.
‘When’s your period due?’
‘Oh God... Monday, I think.’
‘Mine’s next Friday.’
‘So, he’ll kill me first, is that what you’re saying?’
‘That might be a blessing in disguise,’ Richards mumbled.
‘Are we in the hospital basement again?’
‘I think so. When we went to find you in the lower basement, there was water...’
‘See... I told you I was telling the truth.’
‘To be honest, Catherine, I wish you’d been lying.’
‘Yes, so do I now.’
***
Yugai Nuradilov had been a guerrilla during the second Chechen War, but after his beautiful Milana Terloeva was raped and killed by a squad of Russian soldiers, Chechen independence didn’t seem to matter much anymore – he escaped to Britain.
Here he was building a new life, and had an English girlfriend called Tracy. If he could only learn the terrible language, he would be “quid’s in”, as Tracy’s younger brother – Boris - said. He smiled, because although he could speak the words, he had no idea what they meant, or where the phrase had come from.
‘About time you got here,’ Andy said, switching off the television and ejecting the DVD from the drive. ‘Didn’t they teach you how to tell the time in Russia?’
‘Chechnya,’ Yugai corrected him as he did every time Andy said it. ‘Yugai tell time okay.’ He didn’t like Andy Askew. Every time he relieved him, Andy was sitting in the office watching pornographic films, and it wasn’t the normal soft porn either – Andy watched seriously perverted films. From the one time he’d caught a glimpse of what Andy was watching, he could see that it involved real torture and beatings. He smelled of shit all the time as well. Most of the English people he met were very nice, but Andy was what Milana used to call a “baba baraba” – a sick bastard. Yes, Milana had the right words for everything. He still missed her, and one day he would return to Chechnya and put flowers on her grave again.
Andy scooped up his collection of DVDs, his special coffee, pornographic magazines, and packed everything in a rucksack. He was just about to leave when he slid his hand between the wall and the back of the computer and removed a lead. ‘Oops, it wouldn’t do to forget this little baby, Yogi,’ Andy said, wiggling it between thumb and forefinger and slipping it into his bag.
Yugai didn’t mind being called Yogi. He had seen Andy take the lead out of the computer and the connector in the wall before, and wondered what it was for. He didn’t wonder too much, though, because he had a lot of English studying to do. Tonight, the lesson was vehicular breakdown and calling for assistance. In Chechnya he would have just hot-wired another car and set fire to the dead one, but he wasn’t permitted to do that here in Britain.
***
Parish didn’t bother knocking on the security office door, he simply barged straight in followed by the bulk of Ray Kowalski, the balding Ed Gorman, and the angular Paul Toadstone. They certainly didn’t resemble any of the Musketeers, and probably wouldn’t have been mistaken for just over half of the Magnificent Seven.
The security office had been painted a putrid vomit green. There was a threadbare red-patterned carpet on the floor. A computer, monitors, keyboard, and spaghetti of wires with other security equipment filled up a worktop to their right. Yugai was sitting in an easy chair in the far corner to their left. Behind the door was a small television on mute and in front of the easy chair were Yugai’s English language course books spread out on a coffee table.
Kowalski grasped two ample handfuls of Yugai Nuradilov’s fluorescent jacket and lifted him out of the chair he was sitting in, so that his feet were dangling a foot above the floor.
‘I have five pounds... You take it... Yugai have no more money.’
‘Where are the two women, scumbag?’ Kowalski said.
‘Yugai have five pounds... No women.’
‘Put him down, Kowalski,’ Parish said. ‘It’s not as if he’s going anywhere is it? And not only that, he hasn’t a clue what you’re talking about.’
Kowalski dropped Yugai who fell back into the chair he’d been sitting in. ‘God, it stinks in here.’
‘Yugai have pounds,’ he said, rummaging in his jacket.
Parish put his hand on Yugai’s arm. ‘We don’t want your money. We’re looking for two women. Have you seen tw
o women?'
‘No, Yugai have no women... Five pounds only.’
Toadstone was sitting at the computer scanning through the different camera views. ‘Everything appears quiet, Sir.’ He found the Event Log. ‘No events in the Event Log. Wait... No, that’s us arriving.’ He turned to Yugai. ‘How long have you been here?’
‘Yugai arrive at...’ He revealed a Seiko wristwatch and pointed to the eleven.
‘Eleven o’clock?’ Parish said. ‘It’s only twenty past ten now.’
‘No... five.’
‘Ah, five to ten?’
‘Yes, five pounds to ten.’
Kowalski leaned down towards him, and Yugai backed away warily. ‘Who was on duty before you?’
‘Before me... Andy.’
‘He’s gone home?’
Yugai shrugged. ‘Yes, go home.’
Kowalski pulled a folded piece of paper out of his jacket pocket. ‘The list of Touchstone’s employees on this site,’ he said to Parish. He scanned down the list... ‘Andrew Askew?’
Yugai nodded vigorously. ‘Yes, Andy Askew.’
‘When criminals use aliases,’ Ed said. ‘They sometimes use the same capital initials.’
‘Don’t be obtuse, Ed,’ Kowalski said.
‘Of course, you don’t know, do you, Ray?’
‘Know what?’
‘I found out today that Tobias Southern had a bastard with a prostitute called Erin Alva in 1962, and they called the boy Adrian – Andrew Askew/Adrian Alva.’
‘Got you- A.A- but wouldn’t he have been called Adrian Southern?’
‘Could have been, except the other two children knew nothing about him, apart from the fact that he’d been born. My guess is that he used Alva as his last name.’
‘Anything on CrimInt?’ Parish asked.
‘Nothing at all, and to prove I’m not a complete moron, I checked for Adrian Southern as well.’
Kowalski grunted. ‘If this Andrew Askew is Adrian Alva, then he’s obviously using an alias.’
‘Have you got his home address on that sheet of paper?’ Parish said to Kowalski.
‘No. I can ring Touchstone, but they might not give me the address over the telephone.’