His Wrath is Come (P&R5)

by Tim Ellis

  ‘Right, we’ll meet at eight-thirty tomorrow morning.’

  ***

  ‘What possessed you, Parish?’

  They were sitting in the Chief’s office. It was the first time Richards had come in with him. Parish had poured himself a coffee, but Richards shook her head vigorously because he’d already told her where it came from.

  ‘You’ll never get me to drink that,’ she had said one morning before the wedding.

  ‘What if your life depended on it?’

  ‘I’d die.’

  ‘What if I ordered you to drink it?’

  ‘I’d refuse.’

  ‘What if you couldn’t be my partner anymore unless you had a whole mug of the coffee, and there were Monkey droppings floating on the top?’

  She had laughed. ‘Then I’d have to find another partner, one who didn’t make me drink coffee with monkey droppings in it.’

  He clutched his chest as if he’d been shot through with an arrow. ‘I can’t believe you just said that?’

  ‘I can’t believe you’d force-feed your partner, nearly your daughter, coffee with monkey droppings in it.’

  And so it had gone on back and forth, but she refused to even take a sip and try it.

  ‘I’d forgotten it was a ‘No-Go Area’,’ Parish replied.

  ‘And because you forgot we’ve lost a perfectly serviceable pool car, you’ve also put back police relations on that estate by at least twenty-five years, and we nearly lost two barely adequate detectives. Who was driving?’

  ‘I was, Ma’am,’ Richards admitted.

  ‘You do realise that because you were driving they’ll take the cost of a replacement car out of your salary over twenty-five years?’

  Richards looked at Parish, but he couldn’t keep a straight face.

  She hit him on the arm. ‘You...’

  ‘Some kinda wonderful?’

  ‘Not even close.’ She turned to the Chief. ‘Chief Day would have done that as well... I still miss him.’

  ‘It’ll get better over time, Richards,’ the Chief said. ‘So, tell me why you depleted our car pool by one Ford Mondeo?’

  Richards briefed the Chief on what they’d been doing all day, and what they had found out.

  ‘Nothing conclusive yet then?’

  Parish responded. ‘No, but the more names PC Laveque finds the more they support the patterns she’s identified. The problem, of course, is that we’ve found no dead bodies, so as far as anybody is concerned we’re still looking for missing people.’

  ‘And even if they were all dead, Chief,’ Richards chipped in, ‘we wouldn’t have any idea where to look for the bodies, and we don’t have any suspects either.’

  ‘What next then?’

  ‘Well, PC Laveque has definitely found some patterns, and what’s odd is that we’re not just talking about one pattern, but a number of patterns overlaid onto one another that together are too convincing to be coincidental. So, I suppose we carry on until we find something conclusive.’

  ‘Or a real murder comes in?’

  ‘Of course.’

  ‘Thank you for coming in,’ Chief Kirby said standing up and moving back to her desk. ‘Same time tomorrow, and try not to dispose of any more police cars, Constable Richards, or it will be coming out of your salary.’

  Richards grinned. ‘Okay, Ma’am.’

  ‘And stop calling me that. It makes me feel like a hundred years old.’

  ‘Sorry, Ma’am.’

  Outside Parish said, ‘Let’s go and say hello to Toadstone,’ and set off towards forensics with Richards chasing after him.

  ‘Why?’

  ‘If you’d forgotten we have a security DVD that needs analysing unless you want to do it?’

  ‘I haven’t got time.’

  ‘Something on the Crime Channel?’

  ‘I’m helping you find your parents.’

  ‘Oh yes, I’d forgotten.’

  ‘No you hadn’t, you just wanted to see if I had remembered.’

  ‘We should have had a pre-adoption agreement... a bit like a pre-nuptial agreement.’

  ‘What for? Ooh, we could have had things like, the father will give the stepdaughter five hundred pounds for clothes each month, and the stepfather will allow the stepdaughter to watch the Crime Channel day or night without complaining, and...’

  ‘That wasn’t exactly what I had in mind. More along the lines of, the stepdaughter will be ready five minutes before it’s time to leave in the mornings, the stepdaughter will do everything she is asked to do without complaint, the stepdaughter...’

  ‘Is it a long list?’

  ‘Very long, we could be here for some time.’

  ‘I think you love me exactly the way I am.’

  He let out a laugh. ‘As if.’

  They reached the entrance to forensics.

  ‘Don’t you aim that hand at me, and don’t think the Chief didn’t see you striking a senior officer before. Right we’re here, pretend you know what you’re doing.’

  ‘I don’t have to pretend, I do know what I’m doing.’

  ‘Toadstone,’ Parish called along the spotless corridor. ‘D’you know the human head weighs eight pounds?’

  The Head of Forensics turned and smiled. ‘Ray, in Jerry Maguire, 1996.’

  ‘How have you been, Toadstone?’

  ‘Everything’s been really quiet while you’ve been away.’

  ‘I hope you’re not insinuating something?’

  ‘I would never do such a thing,’ he said, but Parish could see the glint in his eyes.

  He produced the security DVD. ‘I’d like this analysing please.’

  Toadstone took hold of the plastic outer covering, but Parish didn’t let it go. ‘Analysing for what?’

  ‘On the 10th September 2010 a nineteen year-old called Allan Cousins went missing. The last time anyone saw him he was leaving his place of work – Shoes 4 U – at five-thirty in the evening. This is a security video of Staple Tye shopping centre from that day. I’d like a composite made of any recording of him from the time he leaves the shop until he leaves the shopping centre.’

  ‘You’ve brought a picture of Allan Cousins so we know what he looks like?’

  ‘Richards was just about to run downstairs and get one’.’

  ‘I was?’

  ‘Are you still here?’

  After she’d gone Parish said, ‘Have you got yourself a girlfriend yet?’

  Toadstone creased his eyes up and stared at Parish. ‘Why are you asking?’

  ‘I’m a friend, you saved my life, I care about you.’

  ‘If you say so, Sir.’

  ‘Well?’

  ‘No, no girlfriend, I don’t have much luck with women.’

  ‘Have you ever thought about going on one of those ‘Makeover’ programmes on the TV?’

  ‘If you’ve got something to say, why not come out and say it?’

  ‘You’re ugly, Toadstone.’

  ‘Oh...’

  ‘I know, it’s not great for me to have tell you that, but if a friend can’t tell you, well...’

  ‘It was a bit brutal, Sir.’

  ‘You asked me to come out and say what was on my mind. What did you want me to do? You’re not a baby. I could have gradually built up to it. Maybe made some sly innuendoes, or left cryptic notes in your laboratory, and so on until you hopefully guessed what I was trying to say, but trust me – this way is a lot less painful.’

  ‘Is that why Mary won’t go out with me?’

  ‘You may be ugly on the outside, but inside you’re intelligent, quick, and a real nice guy. In fact, the inner Toadstone is the type of guy Mary needs in her life. The trouble is, she can’t get past the ugly outer Toadstone.’

  ‘Thanks for the first bit, Sir.’

  ‘My pleasure, Toadstone. Now look, if you want Mary you have to do something about the outer Toadstone.’

  The swing doors opened and Richards bounced in. ‘I hope you two haven’t been ta
lking about me?’

  Parish grunted. ‘Why would we be talking about you, Richards? There are considerably more important things to talk about – like who’s going to win the Champions League this year, the cost of Guinness, whether Dancing on Ice will run for another year, and Lola’s patterns.’

  ‘Did he tell you, Paul? We might have found a serial killer?’

  ‘Not another one?’

  ‘Yeah, it’s great isn’t it?’

  ‘Is it?’

  She thrust a photograph of Allan Cousins at him. ‘There, that’s who we’re looking for.’

  ‘Right, come on Richards, stop pestering Toadstone about serial killers.’

  ‘Are you all right, Paul?’

  ‘I was until DI Parish came up here.’

  ‘Have you upset Paul, Sir?’

  ‘No I haven’t. He’s talking about the extra work we’ve just given him to do, aren’t you Toadstone?’

  ‘If you say so.’

  ‘See you, Toadstone, and remember what I said.’

  As they walked through the swing doors Richards said, ‘What did you say?’

  ‘I said that I wanted the DVD analysis as soon as possible tomorrow.’

  ‘Oh.’

  ***

  They arrived home at ten to seven. Dinner was ready and on a low light in the oven. Digby wagged his tail and jumped up at Parish’s leg knowing that a walk was imminent, and Angie had ten minutes before she needed to leave for the hospital.

  Parish enveloped her in his arms and kissed her. ‘You could take the night off, say you have evening sickness. We could go to bed, watch television, eat ice cream off each other, and perform some other adventurous things I have in the back of my mind with pork pies and strawberries?’

  She laughed. ‘I’ve only been back at work for one night, I think they’d guess I wasn’t sick.’

  He kissed her neck, moved his hand over her backside, and then... she moved away.

  ‘Time to go. You’d better get your dinner out of the oven before it disappears.’

  ‘Like you’re going to do, leaving a lonely husband to fend for himself?’

  ‘See you tomorrow night.’

  And she was gone.

  He followed her out with an excited Digby.

  It had been four months since she’d told him she was pregnant. The bump was clearly evident now, and he’d noticed she was wearing some new clothes he hadn’t seen before that allowed for her expanding waistline. Although they’d just spent two idyllic weeks together they hadn’t really talked about the baby growing inside her. Oh, they’d cooed and gushed, and he’d put his hand on the bump when she said it was playing Champions League football, but they hadn’t had a serious discussion about the baby. In five months Angie would give birth, and they had decisions to make. The baby’s room had to be decorated. Clothes, a cot, nappies, and some other things he couldn’t think of just at the moment should be bought. Angie was adamant it was a boy, and they had one name at least – Walter – after his old boss, Chief Walter Day. Yes, Richards was right, the Chief was still missed, but Abby Kirby was a creditable replacement, and the loss would ease with time. So, he’d have to make a point of having a serious conversation with his wife about their child. He’d just thought - there were scans, doctors’ appointments, tests and a hundred other things to make sure the baby would be all right. Oh, and he’d heard there were antenatal classes, but he had no idea what they entailed.

  Richards was sitting at the kitchen table in her Eeyore pyjamas eating lasagne and garlic bread.

  ‘You could have waited.’

  ‘For all I knew you could have gone to the North Pole.’

  ‘You don’t even what or where the North Pole is?’

  ‘I do too. It’s a pole that was hammered into the Arctic ice cap by a man called Amundsen in 1926.’

  ‘Of course it is.’ He took his lasagne out of the oven and sat down at the table opposite her. ‘Have you brought your research down?’

  ‘It’s in the living room waiting for you.’

  ‘Pieces of paper don’t wait.’

  ‘You don’t know that for sure. You think you know, but you can’t be certain.’

  ‘Paper is an inanimate object, it’s not alive, it has no feelings or emotions.’

  ‘But it could have. I mean, it came from a tree, which was alive. Maybe some small fragment of life is still there in the paper. Maybe it’s sitting on top of the coffee table tapping its tiny little paper fingers and saying, “Hurry up, Mr Parish, I’m getting bored.’ She used a high-pitched tinny voice to imitate the paper.

  He burst out laughing, and nearly sprayed half-chewed lasagne over the table. ‘Stop talking, crazy person.’

  Once they’d finished eating it was five past eight, and Richards carried their drinks through into the living room. Parish sat on the sofa, Digby jumped up beside him, and Richards sat on the floor on the other side of the coffee table.

  ‘So, show me what you’ve been doing?’

  Richards became animated and opened up a piece of paper with a mindmap on it. ‘As far as I can see there are nine possibilities. First...’

  He examined the mindmap. ‘These are the same nine things I came up with when I looked.’

  ‘Why wouldn’t they be?’

  ‘No reason, I suppose.’

  ‘Frati Neri means Black Friars.’

  He took a drink from his coffee mug. ‘I remember.’

  ‘I think we should start with the Orologio Solare. It’s actually called the Orologio Solare di Augustus. Emperor Augustus arranged the district of Campo Marzio in the form of gardens and in their centre was a clock. In 1980 they discovered the remains of the sun clock constructed by Emperor Domitian on top of the one Augustus built, and...’

  ‘Is this going anywhere?’

  ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘Well, let’s go back to the beginning. You don’t actually get Emperor Augustus’ sundial when you type Frati Neri into the search engine, do you?’

  ‘Well no, I typed in Orologio Solare, but...’

  ‘So, there’s actually no connection between the clue and Emperor Augustus, and I don’t think I’m the last Roman Emperor.’

  She turned the mindmap round and crossed off the Orologio Solare di Augustus. ‘All right then, the Orologio Solare – Romita dei Frati Neri is located on the side of a church on the Via Romita in Cupramontana in Ancona, Italy, which is southeast of Florence. I think there’s a clue in the writing on the sundial, or underneath it. If we go there and...’

  ‘Excuse me?’

  ‘Yes?’

  ‘We’re not characters in a Dan Brown story, this is real life.’

  ‘Huh! You say that, but people in real life don’t get pushed under tube trains, and MI6 agents don’t leave them cryptic clues that they have to decipher, and...’

  ‘All right maybe it is a bit like a Dan Brown story, but not much, and we’re not going to Italy.’

  ‘But the clue is in Italian, and now I come to think of it you look a bit Italian, you’ve got black hair and shifty eyes, and...’

  ‘We’re not going to Italy.’

  ‘I could...’

  ‘And you’re definitely not going to Italy with all those black-haired shifty-eyed Italian men.’

  ‘But...’

  ‘So, let’s rule out the Italian sundials, shall we?’ He looked at the mindmap again. ‘What about this?’

  She craned her neck to see. ‘The hanged man. Yes, that’s interesting. On 18 June 1982 Roberto Calvi was found by a postman hanging from Blackfriars Bridge – and Blackfriars Bridge is called ll Ponte dei Frati Neri – so you could be the unknown son of...’

  ‘Stick to facts.’ He was thinking about the date - June 1982, which was less than two years after he’d been born. It hadn’t occurred to him before, but maybe his birth date of 17th October 1980 was also a lie.

  ‘Okay, here are the facts, Mr Grumpy. Roberto Calvi was Chairman of Italy’s second largest private bank, Banco
Ambrosiano when it went bankrupt in 1982. Guess who the main shareholder was?’

  ‘The Vatican Bank?’

  ‘Only because you’ve read the story.’

  ‘That’s a slanderous accusation.’

  ‘They also think the Mafia used the bank for money laundering... Hey, you could be the son of...’

  Parish puffed his cheeks out and said in a deep voice, ‘I’m gonna make you an offer you can’t refuse.’

  Richards laughed. ‘No, maybe not. You don’t look or sound anything like Sean Connery.’

  Parish laughed as well. ‘Marlon Brando, you idiot, the Mafia don’t have Scottish accents.’

  Richards stood up. ‘Do you want a coffee?’

  ‘I thought you’d never ask.’

  When she came back with two steaming mugs he said, ‘What’s this ‘Masonic Lodge, P2’?’

  ‘P2 stands for Propaganda Due, the name of an Italian Masonic Lodge, which was established in 1945, but its Charter was withdrawn in 1976. It then became a covert lodge operating illegally and has been implicated in numerous criminal activities and mysteries, including the collapse of the Banco Ambrosiano and Roberto Calvi’s murder.’

  ‘Murder?’

  ‘At first they thought Calvi had committed suicide, but after two inquests it’s now been proven that he was murdered. Five people went on trial recently in Italy, but they were acquitted. They think the Mafia killed him to stop him talking, and that P2 were the decision-makers.

  ‘On your mindmap those three things are obviously connected: Roberto Calvi, Blackfriars Bridge, and the P2 Masonic Lodge.’

  ‘Yes.’

  He picked up Richards’ pencil and said, ‘Do you mind?’

  ‘No, but...’

  He drew a cloud around the three points, and put a line through others. ‘Okay, if we ignore the Orologio Solare, the various religious sites, the Romita dei Frati Neri, and the numerous restaurants and pubs called Frati Neri, all we have left is the three-point connection, the Dominican order of Preachers, and Blackfriars Hall at Oxford University.’

  She stuck out her bottom lip. ‘You’ve messed up my mindmap now.’

  ‘Stop being a baby. You can do another one. You like drawing mindmaps, and it needs updating anyway.’

  ‘I suppose.’