by Tim Ellis
‘You liked it then?’
‘I’ve already ordered a barrel of the stuff.’
‘When you say it sent you “doolally” what do you mean?’
‘Did you ever smoke pot at university?’
‘If I say yes, you’re not going to arrest me, are you?’
Ray laughed. ‘I’d have to arrest myself as well then.’
‘I smoked a couple of joints, but I can’t say I liked them that much. I couldn’t really see what all the fuss was about.’
‘Well, that beer is probably ten times as potent as a joint.’
‘Sounds like powerful stuff, maybe we should inform the drug squad about it.’ In the back of his mind a plan to solve his little problem began to take shape.
Ray licked his lips. ‘I’m beginning to wonder if the stuff’s addictive.’
‘Maybe you don’t want to get that barrel then.’
‘Or maybe I should get two barrels with the option on another ten.’
They both laughed as the Volvo Estate hurtled down the A10 towards the A406 and the Romford storage unit.
***
‘Not more work?’
‘Anybody would think you were up to your eyeballs in the sweaty stuff, Toadstone, but I bet you’re all sitting around with your feet up ordering pizzas, drinking beer, and watching daytime television.’
It was ten to nine, and the three of them were standing in Toadstone’s office cum laboratory.
‘Clearing the backlog. I was hoping this could be the first time in a long time that we cleared our backlog.’
‘Don’t talk rubbish. You like having a backlog. It’s a good excuse not to do any work.’
‘I’m not going to take your bait, Sir.’
‘All I want from the forensics department is a second analysis of that security DVD focused around Mobiles2Go. That’s not too much to ask now, is it? I’d like you to identify the killer’s face while Richards and I visit the shop and find something that appears to be alien to you, Toadstone – evidence.’
‘I love the way you skewer those little worms on your hook. I hate worms, so you’re wasting your time using worms to bait me.’
‘Do I look like I’m on a fishing trip? Do you see me clomping about in waders? Am I wearing a flat cap and a Barbour jacket? Do I have a fishing rod gripped in my maggoty hands? No, none of those things, and do you know why?’
‘I’m sure you’re going to tell me.’
‘Yes I am, Toadstone, because I think it’s important that you understand my gross dislike of fishing. Now hunting, that’s a different ball game. I could have been a hunter, with a big gun and bandoleers, serial killers’ heads mounted on bits of wood and hung in my living room, photographs of me in a hunter’s pose with my foot resting on their rotting carcasses...’
‘And me?’
‘Yes, and you, Richards.’
‘Your house would smell.’
‘Paul’s right. We should just have the photographs, I don’t think we need the heads as well.’
‘As we very well know, photographs can be manipulated, but if we had a collection of heads on the wall, probably with a blow-by-blow account of the hunt underneath for people to read...’
‘You mean like a museum?’
‘You’re getting the hang of it now, Toadstone.’
‘You’d probably be better off having the heads in large glass jars of formaldehyde rather than mounted on plinths.’
‘That could work. Those glass jars are like magnifying glasses – you’d be able to see every hair and follicle. I’d also need to have a shelf specially built to hold the weight of the jars.’
‘Are we going now, Sir? I’m getting bored, and we need to walk to the garage before that horrible John Knight gives out all the cars.’
Toadstone took Parish by the upper arm and led him away from where Richards was standing, so that she couldn’t hear what he was about to say.
‘I’ve booked a month off in two weeks time.’
‘Going somewhere nice?’
‘I’m following your suggestion. I’m having things done.’
‘You do know it’s not just about looks, don’t you?’
‘Yes, of course.’
‘But I think you’re half way there, because Richards likes you as a person.’
‘Thanks, Sir.’
‘Also, I think it’s important that you don’t pile all your hopes on catching Richards with this strategy. It might not work with her because she’ll have seen the old you, but there’ll be lots of other women I’m sure.’
‘I understand.’
‘Good.’ He began to walk towards the exit and said over his shoulder, ‘I’ll expect to see you in the incident room at four o’clock, Toadstone?’
‘I’ll try and fit you in.’
‘And remember, they may take our lives, but they'll never take our freedom!’
The corner of Toadstone’s mouth flickered upwards. ‘Mel Gibson as William Wallace in Braveheart, 1995.’
Richards laughed. ‘Paul’s won again, Sir.’
‘A temporary condition only.’
‘Paul’s great, isn’t he? I don’t think you’ll ever beat him.’
Parish looked back and gave Toadstone a wink.
‘You’re meant to be my partner, not some floozy cheering on the first guy you meet who’s got a brain cell?’
‘If you told me who was on that list, I might be your cheerleader.’
‘List? I have no recollection of any list.’
‘I’ll find out, you know.’
‘I don’t see how when the list – if there is such a list – doesn’t exist anymore.’
‘You don’t think I really believed you destroyed the list, do you? You wouldn’t do that. I know you have it somewhere, I just have to find it.’
‘Have you been rooting in my briefcase and pockets?’
‘Who me?’
***
As they walked down the stairs and out of the station towards O’Flynn’s garage Richards said, ‘What did Paul want you for?’
‘Sometimes, you don’t have to know.’
‘Yes, but now isn’t one of those times.’
‘He wanted to know whether you might go on holiday to the Maldives with him, but I knew you wouldn’t, so I told him to forget it.’
‘I don’t understand?’
‘He’s willing to pay for a month’s holiday for you and him, the whole shebang, but there’s a catch.’
‘Oh?’
‘He could only afford one room with a double bed, and the weight limit on luggage was restricted to one skimpy bikini and a pair of flip-flops.’
‘So, you’re not going to tell me?’
‘No.’
‘You’re doing that a lot lately.’
‘What?’
‘Not telling me things.’
‘I didn’t tell you things before.’
‘I know, but I found out.’
‘Yes, well there’s your problem, you see. If you hadn’t been so nosy in the past I wouldn’t have to hide things from you now. The trouble is not that you know, but what you do with the information when you do know.’
‘If you tell me, I promise I won’t do anything.’
‘That would be like putting a double vodka in front of an alcoholic and expecting them not to drink it. I blame myself, of course, I should have trained you better, watched you more closely, made sure the punishment fitted the crime.’
‘You’re making fun of me.’
‘As if I would.’
‘You could just tell me one itsy bitsy name from that list.’
‘Walter Day.’
‘He wasn’t on the list.’
‘Unfortunately, he was.’
‘Don’t say that, Sir. Chief Day wasn’t a Freemason.’
‘You think I’d lie about the Chief?’
‘No, but...’ She went quiet for a while and then said, ‘I don’t know what to say.’
‘Well, remember that the list is
rumour only, so it might be that the Chief’s name was put on it by mistake. Also, there are fifty names on the list Rowan gave me, but only thirty-five on the list of P2 members.’
‘That’s true. I prefer to think of Chief Day not being on the list.’
‘I know.’
‘I knew you hadn’t burnt the list.’
‘You saw me burn it. Do you think I’ve taken up magic as a hobby?’
‘I’m nearly a detective remember. First of all, I think you burnt a blank sheet of paper, and misdirected me by standing up and getting the matches out of the cupboard – it was a cheap magic trick. Second, you haven’t spoken about the list in the past tense once.’
Chapter Eleven
Parish stood back and let Richards organise the pool car. He didn’t really want another confrontation with John Knight if it could be avoided. Surprisingly, the mechanic who dealt with Richards gave her no trouble, and they came away with a newer Saab than they’d had yesterday. John Knight was nowhere to be seen.
‘How did that happen?’ he asked when they were driving up the High Street towards the A414 and Staple Tye shopping centre.
‘I have a way with men.’
‘You have a way with the wrong type of men.’
‘Is there a right type of man? According to you they’re all suspects who should be checked out on CrimInt.’
‘You’ve seen the evil men can do. In fact, you’ve nearly been the victim of said evil twice.’
‘I don’t need reminding.’
‘I think you do, because you keep making the same mistake.’
‘Maybe I should become a lesbian.’
‘That would be a good idea.’
‘As if. So, we’re going to the mobile phone shop in the hope that they’ve kept some records from September last year?’
‘Yes.’
‘What then?’
‘Lunch probably.’
‘That’s not what I meant.’
‘I know, but I can’t think on an empty stomach.’
‘You’re like a human dustbin. You must have hollow legs.’
‘I thought I could hear the sea when I walk up the stairs.’
‘We’ve run out of leads, haven’t we?’
‘I was wondering when you’d notice.’
‘I noticed yesterday, but I didn’t want to state the obvious again in front of the others.’
‘That’s not like you to restrain yourself.’
‘I know, I must be getting older.’
‘Or wiser.’
‘Have you got a plan?’
‘Is the moon made of cheese?’
‘No, I don’t think so.’
‘There’s your answer then.’
‘Maybe something will turn up.’
‘You sound like Mr Micawber.’
‘We did David Copperfield at school.’
‘You went to a posh school then?’
Richards laughed. ‘Who did you do in English?’
‘There was a girl called Joyce Rowe with blonde hair, freckles and a smile I wanted to keep in a box under my bed.’
‘And that’s definitely not what I meant.’
They were quiet for a time as Richards reached the Eastwick roundabout and turned right down Fifth Avenue towards Burnt Mill.
‘It’s strange how neither Allan Cousins nor Alice Cooper have left anything behind,’ Richards said.
‘What do you mean?’
‘Well, Mrs Cousins said that Trevor – Allan’s brother – had packed her son’s effects into a couple of boxes, and that all she had left were a few keepsakes. I also wondered what happened to Alice Cooper’s effects when the Cooper’s house was sold. Usually, we get to rummage through a dead person’s effects, but we haven’t been able to this time.’
‘Now I remember why I brought you with me this morning. Sometimes, you open your mouth and something worthwhile comes out.’
‘You’re so kind.’
‘I know, don’t forget to put me in for Boss of the Month.’
‘I’ll do it as soon as we get back to the station.’
‘Good... Yes, we should have asked to see the few personal effects Allan Cousins left behind. I blame you that we didn’t, you know.’
‘Why me?’
‘Well, it can only be your fault or my fault, and we can hardly put the blame on a Detective Inspector, can we now?’
‘No, that would never do.’
‘I think you’re beginning to get the hang of how things work in the police force, Richards.’
***
They arrived at Staple Tye shopping centre at ten to ten and parked the car in the huge outdoor car park.
‘You remember where you’ve parked it?’ Parish asked as they zigzagged through the cars towards the entrance.
Richards stopped, turned, and tried to locate the car. ‘It was over there, wasn’t it?’ she said pointing vaguely to her left.
‘Don’t ask me, I thought you were making a mental note of where it was.’
‘I didn’t think. Oh well, we’ll just have to wander round until we find it.’
‘You’re trying to make us the laughing stock of the police force, aren’t you? Somebody could video us trying to find the car, and put it on YouTube entitled “A Detective Inspector and his trainee searching for where they left the car”. Oh my God, it could go viral, the whole world would laugh at us. They’d say, how can we find a murderer when we can’t even find where we left the car? We’d get the sack. I’d have to walk around with a paper bag on my head, get a job stacking shelves at night in the supermarket, and have plastic surgery. ’
‘And you call me a drama queen.’
‘You are, I was just pretending.’
‘It didn’t sound like you were pretending to me.’
They entered the shopping centre and found Mobiles2Go on the second floor near the escalator between Tote Bookmakers and Sally’s Bakery. The smell of hot pasties and sausage rolls made his mouth water. He wondered if he should have a ten o'clock snack, but he knew Richards would moan if he did, so he dismissed the idea.
He supposed that the businesses occupying the shops were allocated on a first-come-first-served basis, or maybe they went to the highest bidder. The reason he was thinking about the allocation of shops was because he thought that a bookies, a bakers, and a mobile phone shop didn’t really complement each other, but then he wondered how it could be any different. Wasn’t variety the spice of life?
The manager of Mobiles 2Go was a black man with shoulder-length dreadlocks, a straggly goatee beard, and a crocheted rasta hat in the colours of the Jamaican flag. He had a smile to match his brilliant white teeth, and wore a glaring red and yellow top over white linen trousers and flip-flops.
‘Yeah man?’
Parish had the feeling that he’d just walked off a Caribbean beach. He flashed his warrant card. ‘I’m Detective Insp...’
But the shop manager had already diverted his attention to Richards. ‘Lady of my dreams.’ He took her hand and kissed it.
‘Tonight, we can sail away together in a boat made of pea green soup
We can take some money honey wrapped up in a marijuana leaf
O lovely Pussy! O Pussy, my love
Let’s sail away for a roll in the hay
To the land where the Spliff-tree grows
Let’s not tarry, but marry
We can dance hand-in-hand on the sand by the light of a silvery moon.’
Richards burst out laughing. ‘Thanks very much for the offer, but that’s not The Owl and the Pussycat poem I remember.’
‘No, but I bet that Edward Leary fella wishes he’d written my version.’
‘I’m sure he does,’ Parish said. ‘So, we’d like to see receipts for all the mobile phones in your shop.’
‘Say what?’
‘I thought that would get your attention.’
‘You’re jesting right, man?’
‘We’re with the Murder Investigation Team at Hoddesdon. You�
��re the manager I presume?’
‘You presume correctly – Wilson T Beauregard at your inconvenience.’
‘Well, Mr Beauregard, it would appear that the person we’d urgently like to question bought a mobile phone here on the 10th September last year and the year before, and...’
‘Hey, man. I can stop you there. I opened this place in December last year, bought the name and the old stock for a song.’
‘Okay, do you know who the previous owner was?’
‘Brian something or other. You know, that guy who went up in a balloon.’
‘I love guessing games,’ Richards said. ‘Richard Branson?’
‘Nah, not him. Went around the world in eight days, or some such.’
‘You mean eighty days?’
‘Yeah, that’ll be it.’
‘Oooh, I know what he looks like, but I don’t know his name. I wish Paul were here, he’d know. Do you know, Sir?’
‘Maybe we don’t need Toadstone after all,’ Parish said. ‘Phileas Fogg?’
Richards grinned. ‘Yes, that’s who it is.’
Wilson wrung his hands. ‘No, no, not that one. More recent than that.’
‘Michael Palin?’ Parish said.
‘Yep, you got him. His name was Brian Palin.’
‘Any idea how we can contact him?’
‘He told me he was emigrating to Canada to live in an igloo or some such.’
Parish laughed to himself. He had the feeling it was going to be one of those days where Murphy’s Law kicked in: Anything that can go wrong will go wrong. ‘What about his old accounts, records, and inventories?’
Wilson shrugged. ‘All I’s know is that they ain’t here. Place was fresh painted and carpeted to my specifications when I opened up.’
It was a dead end. ‘Thanks for your time, Mr Beauregard,’ Parish said as he walked towards the door.
‘You’re not taking the lovely Pussy with you, are you?’
‘I’m afraid so.’
Wilson took Richards’ hand again and kissed it. ‘My pea green soup boat will be waiting on the shores of the Island of Crushed Dreams if you change your mind, Pussy, my love.’