by Ellis, Tim
‘What are you two doing then?’
‘Personal training,’ Catherine said. ‘Do some exercise first, shed a few pounds, then tennis coaching with a hunky tennis coach...’
‘Don’t you go having sex with any member of the health spa staff, either, Richards.’
‘Sirrr.’
‘Just making sure you’re not going to wriggle out of it by saying, “But you didn’t mention the staff, Sir.”’
‘That didn’t even sound like me.’
‘...And then we’re having the eyebrow shape and tidy, re-vital eyes, tri-enzyme resurfacing facial and then, to finish off, the lavender and tea tree exfoliation.’
***
Health spa!
He felt as though he’d been cage fighting and been awarded second place.
The evening meal consisted of three very small lettuce leaves – in fact, he could visualise the miniature lettuces they’d been plucked from – a plum tomato and a stuffed avocado. Stuffed with what, he had no idea, but he suggested to the others that maybe it was the exfoliant mixed with the inside of the avocado once they’d used it for the reviver treatments.
‘You’re disgusting, Sir.’
‘I’m going to be a shadow of the man I used to be by the time we leave here.’ He stroked Angie’s back. ‘Maybe you and I should go out for a slap-up meal before we go to bed?’
‘That’s cheating,’ Richards said.
‘Oh, and I suppose clubbing it, pouring Bahamas Mamas down your neck until your brain turns to jelly, and swapping saliva with a man isn’t?’
Catherine laughed. ‘We’ll be dancing, sweating and losing weight.’
‘We’re not going for any slap-up meal, Jed Parish. An early night will do us both good. We’ve come here to get healthy, not make ourselves ill.’
Richards brought a hand up to her face, and stuck her tongue out at him so that only he could see.
***
‘I need pickled onions and raspberry ice cream,’ Angie said, shaking him awake.
‘But it’s three in the morning.’
‘You have to get them for me. I’ll die if you don’t.’
He wandered about on the ground floor of the hotel until he found the kitchen, but it was locked. In the end, he had to drive towards Leicester until he found an all-night garage. The pickled onions were no problem, and he could only get raspberry ripple ice cream. He got back to Ragdale Hall at quarter to five, and Angie had gone back to sleep. He crawled in next to her and drifted off until six o’clock.
‘Come on,’ Angie said. ‘We have another healthy day of treatments, get up.’
He felt as though he’d been on a stakeout all night. ‘If you recall, I was up half the night getting you pickled onions and raspberry ice cream that you didn’t eat.’
‘Stop moaning.’
***
‘Why have you got sunglasses on, Richards?’
‘The bright lights hurt my eyes.’
‘Because?’
‘Because I drank too much last night.’
‘I see. Well, I’m not going to eat breakfast – and I use the term loosely – with someone who’s wearing sunglasses, so take them off.’
‘You’re so mean,’ she said, taking off the glasses.
He laughed, and the other guests turned to stare.
‘Don’t laugh; I feel awful.’
‘Where’s Catherine?’
‘She said she’s having a little lie-in and will be down later.’
‘And why didn’t you do that?’
‘Because I knew you wouldn’t let me.’
‘What time did you get back?’
‘Six o’clock.’
‘So you’ve had no sleep at all?’
‘No.’
‘Did you find a man?’
‘Yes.’
‘And?’
‘He said he’s coming to meet you at ten o’clock this morning.’
‘That’s not like you to follow orders, Richards.’
‘I know- I must be ill.’
‘So, tell me about him.’
‘He said his name was Robert, and he lives in Leicester.’
‘Have you thought about the distance involved?’
‘I know; I’ll never see him.’
***
Parish sat in the hotel reception at ten o’clock, but Robert was a no-show.
‘I’m glad I didn’t sleep with him. He would have broken my heart, wouldn’t he, Sir?’
He touched her face. ‘If he had, he’d have ended up in hospital. After your mother, you’re the most beautiful woman I know.’
‘You’re just saying that.’
‘Have I ever lied to you when it mattered?’
‘No.’
‘One day, you’ll find the right man and fall in love with someone who loves you right back, but that's not today. So, get your arse moving; we have more treatments to get through.’
***
‘Are you ever going to move back to your flat?’ Parish said to Catherine once they’d returned home. They were in the kitchen on the way up to bed.
‘Are you throwing me out?’
‘Absolutely not, you can stay as long as you want to.’
‘I will then.’
‘Okay. It’ll be good for Richards to have a friend here while Angie and I are on honeymoon.’
‘I’m some use after all then.’ She sat down at the kitchen table and began to cry.
He put an arm round her shoulders. ‘What’s going on, Catherine?’
‘I’m so scared all the time.’
‘Have you seen your doctor?’
‘He was useless; said there was a waiting list of three months.’
‘You should have said.’
‘I thought I could deal with it, but I can’t.’
‘First thing in the morning I’ll arrange for you to see Dr Marie Rafferty, the psychologist I’m seeing. She seems to know what she’s doing.’
‘Thank you, Jed.’ She stood up and hugged him, kissed him on the cheek, and then, as if by magic, she was kissing him on the lips.
He pushed her away.
‘Sorry,’ she said, not looking at him. ‘It just happened.’
‘I thought we had an agreement?’
‘We do.’
‘I don’t want us to fall out, but you have to find someone else.’
‘I know.’
####
His Wrath is Come
For the great day of his wrath is come
Revelations 6:17
Chapter One
Monday, 11th July
‘I’m scared, Sir.’
‘Will you shut up, Richards,’ Parish said into his radio. ‘You’re meant to be hiding, and keeping radio silence.’
‘I know, but it’s dark, and there are spiders in here.’
‘Is that all?’
‘Big ones, and I can hear scraping sounds.’
‘What, like a shackled foot dragging along the floor?’
‘Don’t say that... You don’t think there are ghosts in here as well, do you?’
‘No such things.’
‘But when we opened the crypt we might have woken someone – or something – up.’
‘You watch far too much television.’
‘If the killer does turn up he’ll think he’s stumbled into an episode of the Jeremy Kyle show,’ Kowalski chipped in.
‘Yeah, stop talking, Richards,’ Parish said.
‘You were talking as well, Sir.’
‘Which part of stop talking don’t you understand?’
‘Huh.’
It was ten minutes before midnight. They were in the unused Chingford Mount Cemetery off the Old Church Road. It was Kowalski and Ed’s case – a lunatic was stealing corpses from funeral directors and dumping them in local graveyards. He and Richards were helping out because murders were a bit thin on the ground. Today was his first day back at work after getting married to Angela Richards – or should that be Angela Parish née Ri
chards? – and taking two weeks off to go on honeymoon to Castaway Island in Fiji. After wearing a sarong for two weeks his clothes felt heavy and uncomfortable. Also, the peeling skin on his shoulders and the tops of his feet itched like crazy. He’d spent the day catching up with his mail, his intray, his inbox, and clearing his desk of debris that people had deposited there because they were too stupid to use one of the specific places allocated for rubbish, and most of it was. Also, his monitor had disappeared under a blanket of post-it stickers all the colours of the rainbow, and with no useful information on any of them.
Chief Abby Kirby called him into her office just before lunch, gave him coffee, and sat down at the coffee table with him.
‘You look well, Parish.’
‘I am, and can I say that I appreciate you trying to make everything like it was when Chief Day was here, I think we can have the same kind of working relationship.’
‘Thank you for your honesty, Inspector. I hope we can work together as well.’
‘The Chief and I had a good relationship... and Richards. Do you know she made sure he took his tablets and kept his appointments at the hospital?’
‘Yes, I know. DI Kowalski has told me everything.’
‘We thought... Well... You haven’t slept with Kowalski have you, Chief?’
She smiled emphasising the laughter lines. ‘He said you’d ask me that. Yes, we had a little fling many years ago.’
Parish shook his head. ‘Is there anyone that man hasn’t slept with, do you think?’
‘I’m sure if you look hard enough... Anyway, welcome back.’
‘Not many murders to get stuck into?’
‘Now that you’re back, I’m sure the serial killers will crawl out of the sewers.’
‘I hope not.’
‘In the meantime, I’d like you to speak to a Constable Celia Rowe from missing persons, she thinks she’d found a pattern.’
He leaned forward. ‘Oh?’
‘I won’t steal her thunder, but what she’s found might be right up your street.’
‘Okay, I’ll take a wander down after lunch. Is there anything else?’
She hesitated. ‘I’m concerned about Constable Richards.’
‘In what way?’
‘Do you think she’s a bit young to be chasing serial killers?’
‘No, Chief. If you saw the reference material she keeps in her bedroom you wouldn’t be worried. It was Richards who spotted that the trunk murders were copies from the 1950s. If she were on Mastermind, Serial Killers would be her specialised subject.’
‘If you’re sure?’
‘I’m sure. It would cause her more psychological damage taking her off the team than everything she’s had to deal with so far, and between me and Kowalski, we’re looking after her.’
‘I trust your judgement.’
He threw back the dregs of his coffee and stood up. ‘Thanks, Chief. I’ll let you know about the missing person’s theory.’
And that was that. He felt as though Walter Day wasn’t turning in his grave anymore – Abby Kirby was a good replacement, and Parish and Richards were back in the groove.
‘There’s someone coming,’ Ed’s voice came over the radio.
He heard an ear-piercing scream and ran to where Kowalski had put Richards in the Williams’ family crypt.
Kowalski and Ed were already there.
Richards was running around squealing and stamping her feet.
‘What the hell happened?’ he said.
‘It was a vampire rat,’ Richards said. ‘It bit me.’
‘Let me look,’ Parish said bending down and shining his torch at her legs. ‘Where?’
‘Well, it was going to. I could see the blood lust in its burning red eyes.’
‘There goes our stakeout,’ Ed said. ‘I don’t think the nutcase is going to come visiting tonight anyway.’
‘I think you’re right, Ed,’ Kowalski said. ‘Let’s knock it on the head.’
They all turned to point their torches and stare at Richards.
‘It wasn’t my fault,’ Richards said. ‘You shouldn’t have put me in that crypt.’
***
He’d told Angie on the honeymoon what had happened in the kitchen with Catherine. She didn’t say anything for a long time.
‘She’ll have to go, Jed.’
‘Yes, I know.’
‘You didn’t encourage her?’
‘Absolutely not.’
‘Has she got any family?’
‘I don’t know.’
‘I’ll speak to Mary. I’m sure she feels responsible. It was her fault after all that they went back to the hospital.’
‘So, you think Mary feels responsible for Catherine’s fear?’
‘Yes.’
‘I’ll leave it to you then.’
‘Coward.’
‘Most definitely.’
At breakfast, Catherine said she was moving back to her flat, and thanked everyone for their patience and understanding. She had been seeing Dr Rafferty, and the therapy was helping. Moving out was the next step in controlling her fear.
So, he hoped everything was resolved, and if Catherine wasn’t able to accost him in the kitchen then there shouldn’t be any more incidents. In time, he hoped she would find someone else and forget that she ever had a crush on him.
***
Catherine leaving was all very good, but it wasn’t the main news at breakfast.
‘I’ve found a man,’ Richards announced rather too nonchalantly as she was pouring Muesli into a dish.
‘Oh dear!’ Angie said.
‘Don’t say that, mum. You’ll like him.’
Parish shook his head. ‘You haven’t had sex with him, have you?’
She hesitated. ‘No.’
‘How many times?’
‘Once.’
‘And after the first time?’
‘Twice more, but he loves me.’
‘Bring him to the house tonight, I’ll vet him.’
‘He’s had to go away on business, but he’ll be back Wednesday.’
‘How convenient. Have you checked him out on CrimInt?’
‘You know we’re not allowed to use it for our personal relationships.’
Angie touched his arm. ‘He’s not going to come back on Wednesday, or any other day, is he Jed?’
‘I would be very surprised if he did.’
‘He’ll come back, you just wait and see. He loves me, he calls me his passion fruit.’
‘Oh dear,’ Angie said again.
Richards pulled a face as she plonked herself down in a chair. ‘You just don’t want me to have anyone to love, but you’ll see, he’ll be here on Wednesday evening.’
‘Name?’ Parish asked.
‘Vince... Vince Jones, although he likes me to call him Vinny.’
Parish burst out laughing.
‘What? Don’t laugh, tell me what?’
‘Vinny Jones was a footballer who used to play for Wimbledon FC, and is now a Hollywood actor.’
‘That doesn’t mean anything.’
‘Did you check his driving licence, or see anything with his name on it?’
‘I didn’t have to, I trusted him.’
‘What about his car number plate, tell me you wrote down his number plate?’
‘I have his mobile number.’
‘And you’ve rung it?’
‘We’ve texted.’
‘Ring him now.’
‘It’s a bit early in the morning.’
‘Give me the number, I’ll ring him.’
She snatched her phone up. ‘I’ll do it.’
They waited while she connected, and held the phone up to her ear.
‘That doesn’t prove anything. He could be in the shower, driving to Land’s End, or...’
‘Land’s End?’
‘That’s where his course is.’
‘And you’ve checked that there is actually a course running there, and he’s on it? You’ve rung t
he hotel where he’s staying? And...’
‘You always have to spoil everything, make it seem sordid.’
‘What’s your job, Richards?’
‘You know what it is, I’m nearly a detective.’
‘Nearly being the operative word. You’ve let a man into your life without checking him out. Would you do that as a detective?’
‘Well no, of course not, everyone is a suspect when we’re investigating a case.’
He stared at her waiting for the penny to drop.
‘What, you want me to treat all men as suspects?’
‘Most definitely.’
‘But everyone is innocent until proven guilty, aren’t they?’
‘That’s a nice idea thought up by some do-gooder, but do we honestly believe that? You’ve just said that everyone is a suspect when we’re investigating a case. As such, it doesn’t work in practise – everyone is guilty until proven innocent.’
‘That’s terribly cynical.’
‘You work on that basis every day at work.’
‘I do?’
‘Yes.’
She put a spoonful of Muesli in her mouth and was evidently thinking about what Parish had said.
‘Okay, but normal people don’t run their boyfriend’s names through the CrimInt database.’
‘First of all, you are normal people. And second of all, if they could, they would. All men are the worst kind of criminals when it comes to sex – they can’t help themselves. They’re driven by an evolutionary imperative to sow their seed wherever they can, and they’ll lie and cheat to do it.’
‘He’s not going to turn up on Wednesday, is he?’
‘I doubt it very much.’
‘Why do I do it? I say every time I’ll let you vet them first, but they all seem so honest and persuasive. I shouldn’t be allowed out on my own.’