His Wrath is Come (P&R5)

by Tim Ellis

  ‘So, what do you fucking want? And it better be good now you’ve got me down here.’

  He showed his warrant card. ‘We’d like to talk to Richard Milakovic.’

  ‘What’s the stupid bastard gone and done now?’

  ‘Nothing as far as we know. We’d like to talk to him about the disappearance of...’

  ‘Not that Alice girl again? Has that fucking Reg Cooper been stirring things up some more?’

  ‘We’re making enquiries into Miss Cooper’s disappearance. Unfortunately, Mr Cooper is dead and the only other name and address we had was Mr Milakovic’s.’

  ‘What day is it?’

  ‘Wednesday?’

  ‘He’s not here.’

  ‘Could you...’

  ‘Work, that’s what fucking people do on Wednesdays – go to work. Instead of going to his place of work, you come round here to harass an old woman. I’ve a good mind to call my lawyer and see what he’s got to fucking say about you harassing me.’

  ‘You couldn’t tell us where your son works, could you?’

  ‘Son? Fucking slander as well. He’s my lodger, don’t you stupid bastards know anything?’

  ‘Obviously not.’

  ‘Bobo’s Auto Repairs, Canons Brook.’

  ‘You don’t have the postcode, do you?’

  ‘Fuck off,’ she said and slammed the door.

  Richards laughed. ‘She wasn’t very pleasant.’

  ‘In comparison with those hoodies yesterday she was a veritable angel.’

  ***

  It was eleven twenty when Richards pulled up outside Bobo’s Auto Repairs on Canons Brook.

  Parish felt hungry already and was looking forward to lunch. After speaking to Richard Milakovic, a pub lunch would be good. Maybe a burger with chips – something substantial to fill the gnawing hollow where his stomach used to be.

  This morning had been largely a waste of time although they had arranged to talk to Peter Field in Afghanistan this afternoon, and now they were going to interview Alice Cooper’s ex-boyfriend. Police work was like that sometimes – days of trudging through the desert looking for water, and then just as you think you’re going to shrivel up and get blown away in the wind, you stumble across a shimmering oasis with a lake, date and coconut palms, camels, and a Macdonald’s.

  They walked into the Reception, but there was no one there. Parish banged his fist on a small bell four times before anyone came.

  ‘Once would have done it,’ a bald-headed overweight man wearing blue coveralls said.

  Parish showed his warrant card. ‘We’d like to talk to Richard Milakovic?’

  The man turned his head towards the rear door and bellowed ‘RICHIE?’

  Richards squealed and jumped.

  ‘Sorry, it can get a bit noisy in the garage with the impact wrench going.’

  A swarthy dark-haired man in similar blue coveralls with the look of a young Sylvester Stallone came in through the rear door. ‘Yeah?’

  ‘Cops here to see you.’

  He looked through Parish, but smiled at Richards as if he’d found the pot of gold at the end of the rainbow and leaned across the counter towards her. ‘I’m in love.’

  Richards blushed, and busied herself taking out her notebook and pen.

  ‘It won’t do you much good in a cell at Hoddesdon Police Station, Mr Milakovic,’ Parish said.

  ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘We’re here about, Alice Cooper.’

  ‘You’ve found her?’

  ‘No, we want to ask you some questions.’

  ‘That crazy father of hers sent you here, didn’t he?’

  ‘He died ten months ago.’

  ‘Something nasty and painful I hope?’

  ‘Yours was the only other name we had. Why did Mr Cooper think you had something to do with her disappearance?’

  ‘Because he was crazy. He just didn’t like me. That was largely why Alice and me split up.’

  ‘When did you break up with her?’

  ‘Two days before she went missing, but she broke up with me actually. She said that because her father didn’t like me, it wasn’t going to work between us. I didn’t understand that, because he’d never liked me from day one, and I’d been seeing Alice for five months. Why break up with me all of a sudden? I just kept out of her father’s way.’

  ‘We’re looking into a number of missing person cases,’ Parish continued. ‘In the days prior to her disappearance did you notice anything strange about her behaviour, or whether anyone new came into her life?’

  He thought for a moment. ‘What was strange was her breaking up with me. We were solid, despite her father, but she just dumped me as if she didn’t care anymore.’

  ‘Anything else?’

  ‘Her mobile rang when she was at my place... You didn’t go round there, did you?’

  ‘Yes, we met your landlady.’

  He sniggered. ‘Yeah, she’s a bit in your face, isn’t she? Anyway, Alice’s mobile rang the night before we broke up and she took the call, but she moved into the toilet and locked the door to answer it.’

  ‘What’s strange about that?’

  ‘She’d never done that before. We had no secrets, but when I asked her about it she wouldn’t tell me anything. She told me to mind my own business, and then the next day she broke up with me.’

  ‘By phone?’ Richards said.

  ‘Yeah, that was weird. She could have done it the night before, or when we saw each other next, but she rang me and broke up. I mean, who does that? I thought she loved me, what a sucker I was.’ He leaned across the counter towards Richards again. ‘So, you’ve seen that I have a sensitive side, would you like to explore my other sides tonight?’

  Richards grinned. ‘I don’t think so, Mr Milakovic, but thank you for the offer.’

  ‘Oh well, back to the clutch... You’ve finished with me, I suppose?’

  ‘Nearly,’ Parish said. ‘Can you tell us where Alice worked, and whether there’s anybody else who might be able to give us an insight into the few days before she disappeared?’

  ‘She worked at Pollards Hatchery just off Kingsmoor Road in Great Parndon – it’s a Playschool. She wanted to be a teacher, and was re-taking her English A-Level at night classes so that she could go to University.’

  ‘Where was she doing the night classes?’

  ‘Little Parndon Primary School.’

  ‘What about friends?’

  ‘Tracy Shayler – that’s who you want to talk to. They were like twins joined at the hip sometimes, texting each other every five seconds. Sometimes, when Alice and me were in bed together, I thought I was having a threesome.’

  ‘You’ve been very helpful, Mr Milakovic, thank you.’

  ‘Aren’t you meant to say, “Don’t leave the country?”’

  ‘Were you planning on leaving the country?’

  ‘No... Although I might go to Ibiza next month, do a bit of posing on the beach, you know...’ He pulled the two sides of his coveralls apart to reveal a hairy chest and a hard ridged stomach that Parish assumed was a six pack. ‘You could have some of this if you wanted, darling?’ he directed at Richards.

  Parish pushed her out of the door. ‘Thank you again, Mr Milakovic,’ he said over his shoulder.

  ‘You don’t think...’

  ‘No, he’s a suspect.’

  ‘Did you see that six pack?’

  ‘That’s nothing I don’t see in the mirror every morning.’

  Richards laughed. ‘As if.’

  Chapter Seven

  ‘Lunch.’

  ‘We’ve only just had breakfast.’

  ‘Four hours ago.’ He checked his watch, which agreed with the dashboard clock. ‘Five to twelve. By the time we’ve found a pub it’ll be at least ten-past. If you don’t hurry up you won’t be able to see me if I turn sideways.’

  Richards laughed as she drove along Canons Brook and turned left into Helions Road. ‘What did you think of...?’

&
nbsp; ‘I don’t think he did it.’

  ‘That’s not...’

  ‘I know.’

  ‘Did what?’

  ‘Whatever it is that happened to Alice Cooper.’

  ‘You think something happened to her?’

  ‘What do you think?’

  ‘I think there’s a serial killer out there.’ She turned right along Fourth Avenue towards Little Parndon.

  ‘We haven’t found any bodies.’

  ‘Yet, but we will.’

  ‘He’s not for you.’

  ‘I know. It was just...’

  ‘You were feeling desperate and he smiled at you?’

  ‘I suppose.’

  ‘Someone will come along.’

  ‘When?’

  ‘When you least expect it.’ He saw a pub on the left by the roundabout and pointed. ‘Pull in there.’

  As she parked next to a Toyota Rav4 she said, ‘Why do you think they called it that?’

  ‘They haven’t called it anything. “The Pub with No Name” means it has no name.’

  ‘Very funny.’

  ‘I try.’

  As he’d promised himself he ordered a burger with a blue cheese topping, chips and a pint of Guinness. Richards asked for a Lemony Pasta Salad with a Diet Coke.

  He took out his phone. ‘Who am I going to ring?’

  She laughed and leaned forward. ‘Is it a film or a book?’

  ‘It’s a test.’

  ‘Related to where we’ve just been?’

  He smiled.

  She took out her notebook and scanned through the notes she’d taken of the interview with Richard Milakovic. ‘The telephone call?’

  ‘What about it?’

  ‘Alice Cooper received a phone call, it’ll be on her phone records. You’re going to ring Paul and ask him to get the phone records of Alice Cooper and Allan Cousins. I’m right, aren’t I? Aren’t I?’

  He pressed dial.

  ‘Chief Scientific...’

  ‘Why do you always do that, Toadstone? You know it’s me, why don’t you just say something like, “Is it safe?”’

  ‘Too easy. Laurence Olivier playing Dr Szell in Marathon Man, 1976.’

  ‘There you go, I knew you could do it. Richards wants to ask you something.’

  She started shaking her head, but he kept nudging her with his phone until she took it.

  ‘Hello, Paul.’

  ‘Hello Mary, what can I do for you?’

  ‘We need the telephone records of an Alice Cooper and...’ She gave him the names, addresses, and any other details she had about the two missing persons in her notebook. ‘Thanks, Paul.’ She passed the phone back. ‘You’re trying to fix me up with Paul again, aren’t you?’

  He adopted his innocent face. ‘Moi?’

  She squinted at him. ‘There are now more similarities besides the initials, the ages, and the date,’ she said with her notebook open on the table. ‘Out of the blue each of them finished with the person they were going with over the phone, they met or spoke to someone before they disappeared, and it appeared that both of them knew they were going.’

  ‘I’ve got a religious cult in mind.’

  ‘Like the People’s Temple, you mean?’

  ‘How do you know this stuff when I don’t?’

  ‘It could be because I’m more intelligent than you.’

  ‘Disregarding that idea, what’s your other explanation?’

  ‘We had a lesson on Doomsday Cults in Sociology. The People’s Temple were the ones who committed mass suicide, or were murdered by Jim Jones, in Jonestown, Guyana – 918 men, women and children died.’

  ‘Crazy people.’

  ‘So which religious cult did you have in mind?’

  ‘None in particular, but I get the feeling these missing people have joined a cult or something, maybe related to the Mayan prophecy that the world is coming to an end in December 2012. They’ve met someone who’s groomed them. They’ve been told to walk away, tell no one, and leave everything behind. I could be wrong, but I think we’ll find them in a commune somewhere smoking pot, making daisy chains, and waiting for the Martians to land.’

  Richards shook her head. ‘It might appear that way, but I think they’re all dead. Maybe the person who’s taking them wants them and everyone else to believe that’s what they’re doing, but they’re not.’

  The food arrived. Parish tucked the paper napkin into his collar so that grease from the burger wouldn’t splash onto his shirt and tie, and began to eat.

  ‘Go on, I’m listening. What evidence has led you to that conclusion?’

  ‘None of them has ever been seen again.’

  ‘That you know of. We’ve only examined two cases out of a possible twenty-seven. Not only that, they could be abroad somewhere.’ He took another bite of his burger and used his fingers to slip some chips into his mouth. ‘I was reading about a French village in the mountains that some crazy people think will survive Armageddon – maybe they’re all there?’

  ‘We could send the French Police some photographs and ask them to check.’

  ‘The population of this village is a hundred and eighty-nine, so I don’t think they’ll have a police department, possibly one woman and a dog.’

  ‘Why a woman?’

  ‘Why not?’

  Richards’ phone rang. She looked at the display and said, ‘I have to go to the toilet.’ On her way out she put the phone to her ear.

  When she returned after five minutes Parish said, ‘Who was that?’

  ‘Who was what?’

  ‘On the phone.’

  ‘Oh, no one.’

  ‘No one that you spent five minutes in the toilet talking to.’

  She picked at her salad and wouldn’t give him eye contact. ‘I wasn’t talking to anybody in the toilet.’

  ‘You’re the worst liar in the history of liars, Richards.’

  ‘You’re not going to be mad at me, are you?’

  He became serious. ‘What have you done?’

  ‘It was the journalist who wrote that article about P2 and the Mafia – Rowan Grieg.’

  ‘Why was she ringing you?’

  ‘Because I rang her.’

  ‘After I told you not to?’

  ‘You’re mad at me, aren’t you?’

  ‘Seething.’

  ‘Do you want to know what she said?’

  ‘No.’

  Why was he surprised, he’d known damn well that she would disobey him? She did it every time, and knowing that maybe subconsciously he’d wanted her to. He was glad he’d finished his burger and chips, because he didn’t feel hungry anymore. He threw back the last of his Guinness and stood up.

  ‘Are we going?’

  He didn’t answer her, but went to the bar and paid.

  She caught him up as he left the pub and headed towards the car. ‘Aren’t you talking to me?’

  He looked at the cloudy sky through the branches of an old oak tree and whistled.

  ‘We’re meeting her tonight.’

  ‘We’re not going, so you’d better ring her back and tell her your boss has given you a direct order, which if you disobey you’ll be transferred back to the beat in Cheshunt.’

  ‘This has nothing to do with work.’

  ‘No, it’s to do with your inability to follow orders.’ He brought his hands up and started counting with the index finger of his right hand touching the index finger of his left hand. ‘Let’s count the ways you’ve disobeyed me...’

  ‘You don’t need to count... Alright, I’ll ring her back and tell her you don’t want to know who your parents are.’

  ‘Good.’

  ***

  Richards turned left out of ‘The Pub with No Name’, drove across the roundabout and took another left down Hamstel Road. Little Parndon Primary School was located behind Princess Alexandra Hospital on Park Mead. She pulled up on the road outside.

  ‘I’ll stay here and phone that reporter. I’ll tell her that even though
she thinks she might know who your parents are you’re not interested.’

  ‘If I wake up with a horse’s head in my bed you’ll be cleaning up the mess.’

  Richards smiled and swivelled in the seat to look at him. ‘We’re only meeting her. I’ve said not to tell anybody else about us.’

  ‘And you don’t think people are watching her, or listening to her phone conversations? I should imagine that she’s lucky to be alive herself after what she’s written about P2 and the Mafia.’

  ‘Oh, I didn’t think of that. You don’t really think people are tapping her phone, do you?’

  ‘Let’s hope not for all our sakes. When and where are we meeting her?’

  ‘She’s catching the train from London. I said we’d pick her up at Chigwell station at seven forty-five. You’re coming now then? You don’t want me to phone her and cancel the meeting?’

  ‘Stop talking, Richards,’ he said climbing out of the car.

  ‘I knew you would. Aren’t you a bit excited? She might really know who your parents are at last. Maybe she’s got evidence, birth certificates, photographs... Maybe you’re really the head of an Italian crime family... Don Parish. People will come and kiss your ring. You’ll have to get an armoured limousine. We could all go and live in Italy on an olive farm...’

  They met with the Deputy Headteacher – Nicola Jenner – who was in charge of out-of-hours learning.

  Parish wondered why primary school teachers were young, and secondary school teachers were old. Nicola Jenner was young, with tight black curly hair, glasses and a pretty smile, but she wore clothes that someone twenty years older than her might wear. Maybe so that people would think she knew what she was doing. Didn’t everyone associate age with knowledge and competence?

  ‘How can I help?’ she asked and smiled her pretty smile.

  They were sitting in Nicola Jenner’s office, which was unusually tidy. Everything on the notice board to their right was squared up, regimented, and each piece of paper had been sized to fit into the spaces like jigsaw pieces. The only thing on her desk was a pot plant that Richards had to look round, and two stones – dejected paperweights – that children had painted faces on. The light from the open window behind her made Parish squint. He realised that this office said something about who Nicola Jenner was as a person – organised, in control of her life, knew who she was, and people respected her – a tidy desk equals a tidy mind is what the experts said. What did his desk say about him?