by Tim Ellis
‘We’re interested in the last month or so, so you don’t have to read the whole diary,’ Parish said.
‘I know.’
Toadstone opened the jewellery box and it began playing a tune. He smiled and said, ‘The Sleeping Beauty Waltz by Tchaikovsky.’
Richards stopped reading the diary. ‘It’s beautiful. Is there anything you don’t know, Paul?’
‘What’s it like having your own groupie, Toadstone?’
‘Mary is hardly my groupie.’
Inside the jewellery box were two velvet-lined compartments. A collection of rings, necklaces, and trinkets were in the large compartment to the left, and the musical movement was in the smaller right-hand compartment.
‘Without damaging it, see if there’s a secret compartment anywhere.’
Toadstone began examining it. Taking out the jewellery and trinkets he turned the box every which way through three hundred and sixty degrees. ‘Not as far as I can see.’
‘I’m disappointed. I felt sure we’d find something. What about the diary, any clues?’
‘She talks about someone called DC, travelling to M, which we know, is Malden, and starting a new life. Wait... there’s something here...’ She peeled the paper back from the inside of the back cover to reveal hollows cut out of the thick cardboard. ‘Oh my God, they’re here.’ She pulled out four train tickets and a small twig. ‘The train tickets are from Harlow to Maldon again dated the 2nd and 4th of August, and the 7th and 8th of September 2009.’
Lola got up and went to the whiteboard. She added the dates to her circle and said as she scratched her head, ‘I got this sinking feeling in my waterworks that he’s making a human clock.’
‘What’s one of those?’ Richards said.
‘Well look here.’ She pointed to the list of names against the years. ‘Now, I’m just guessing, but we’ve got possibly twenty-nine dead bodies. How many minutes goes round a clock?’
‘Sixty,’ Richards said, then her eyes opened wide. ‘No... You’re not saying someone is going to kill sixty people?’
‘I ain’t saying nothing, Mary Richards. All I know is those druid people liked circles, and telling the time, and trees. But here’s something else that’ll compound you, they like human sacrifice and believe in reincarnation as well.’
‘And you know this because?’ Parish asked.
‘I don’t just know about vodou, you know. I done read about other religions as well, and the druids was one of them.’
‘That would be sixty people over sixty years,’ Toadstone offered. ‘If someone was killing these people, then he’d have had to have started young, otherwise he’d be over eighty by the time he finished.’
‘Ah, Mr Toad-in-the-Hole. You definitely getting your own poppet, incinerating Lola don’t know what she’s talking about. Well, I was just ingesting sixty minutes, it could be that he’s getting a boy and a girl for every five minutes, but that would only be twenty-four, and we already got twenty-nine.’
‘Or maybe it’s not a human clock at all?’ Toadstone said.
Lola crossed her arms, pressed her lips together, and squinted at him as if he were Lucifer himself.
‘This is getting us nowhere,’ Parish said. ‘Lola, thanks very much for your suggestions, they’ve certainly given us something to think about.’
‘At least someone appreciates me. Oh, and I done found another two MPs for 1999 and 2000 – Angela Castle and Arthur Carlyle effectively – which I writ on the board. It’s easier to find the later than the earlier ones.’
‘That’s eighteen now,’ Richards said.
‘Is the twig the same as the other one?’
‘It has the same mark on it, but I don’t know whether it’s white thorn or not – it looks like it.’ She slid it across the table to Toadstone.
‘I’ll get it analysed,’ he said.
‘Yes please. Unfortunately, Richards and I can’t get to Northey Island until tomorrow now, because I’ve got a press briefing at two o’clock and other things planned for later.’
‘You also need to check when low and high tides are, so that you can drive across the causeway and come back again,’ Toadstone said. ‘I don’t imagine you want to spend the night on the island.’
‘That’s your job, Richards. If I get trapped on that island you’ll be in serious trouble.’
‘Huh.’
‘Okay, Lola, thanks for your help. We’re going to discuss the other case we’re working on now.’
‘You’re welcome, boss.’ As she passed Toadstone she hissed and jabbed her head towards him like a cobra about to strike.
When the door closed behind her Richards said, ‘I think she likes you, Paul.’
‘Silly woman.’
‘Have you got Rowan Grieg’s telephone records?’
‘Not yet, maybe this afternoon.’
Parish sat down and moved his chair so that his knees were touching Toadstone’s chair. ‘Okay, listen closely,’ he said in a soft voice. ‘As far as you’re concerned you found nothing in that hotel room, which shouldn’t be too difficult because you generally find nothing anyway.’
Toadstone opened his mouth to protest, but Parish carried on. ‘Neither are you obtaining Grieg’s telephone records, you certainly haven’t got a sample of her blood that you’re analysing, and the security DVD is fuzzy and indistinct.’
‘This is another one of your Top Secret investigations that you’re getting me involved in, isn’t it? I’m going to lose my job when people find out, aren’t I?’
‘I’m more concerned about you losing your life. There’s been a development this morning.’
He put his hands over his ears and said, ‘I don’t want to know.’
Parish pulled Toadstone’s right hand away from his ear. ‘Stop being a baby, Toadstone. Chief Kirby could be a member of P2, and if she knows we’ve got any evidence from that hotel room, and that you’ve got it in your laboratory, she’d tell her bosses who would probably send someone with a bomb to blow up your nice shiny new forensics department.’
‘I’m definitely asking for a transfer.’
‘So, if anyone asks, you found no forensic evidence at the Regent Hotel, and as far as you know the case is at a dead end due to lack of evidence – clear?’
‘Clear.’
‘Good, that wasn’t too difficult, was it?’
‘Can I go now?’
‘Yes, but when you have Grieg’s phone records, or you’ve finished analysing the security DVD, or you have the results of the blood analysis, ring me and say that you’re thinking of going fishing at the weekend.’
‘Excuse me?’
‘It’s code. It means I should come and find you, so that you can tell me in person.’
‘Why?’
‘We’re dealing with a powerful organisation, Toadstone. It would be simple for them to monitor our phone calls, and then they’d know everything we do.’
‘I don’t know anything about fishing.’
‘Don’t you have somewhere else you want to be?’
‘I’m thinking of going fishing at the weekend.’
‘There you go, I almost believed you.’
After Toadstone had left Richards said, ‘Did you print off what you wanted to?’
‘Yes thank you.’ He looked at his watch. It was quarter to twelve. He’d spent longer than expected, or wanted, going over the cases, but then he couldn’t really go anywhere when he had a press briefing at two, and then his counselling appointment at four followed by Richards’ appointment at five-fifteen. It would take them at least forty minutes to drive to King George Hospital on a Friday afternoon, so they’d have to leave straight after the press briefing. He pushed himself up. ‘I’m going to the canteen for lunch. Meet me there after you’ve found out the details of the tides for tomorrow.’
‘I can keep a secret if you’re worried I can’t keep a secret.’
‘I haven’t seen any evidence of that so far. In fact, I’ve had to mark you down on that
in your competency record.’
‘Keeping secrets is not a competency.’
He opened the door. ‘Haven’t you got some tidal information to look up?’ He turned right for the stairs.
Nancy was behind the counter in the canteen, her permed white hair bursting out from beneath her regulation hat. She looked as she always looked, and he didn’t believe the rumours that she was an angel sent to watch over the station. If that were the case, she must have forgotten about Ed and his family.
‘Anything nice for lunch, Nancy?’
‘Nice? If you want nice you should go to that slophouse on the High Street. British Home Stores also do the odd nice meal in their restaurant as well. But if you want a delicious, home-cooked, healthy meal then you’ve come to the right place.’ She leaned across the counter and touched his hand. ‘I was sorry to hear about Sergeant Ed and his family... those poor children. It doesn’t bear thinking about. Where’s your beautiful Mary?’
‘She’ll be along soon.’
‘What’s your poison then, lovey?’
‘So, it’s poison now?’
In the end, he had the fish, chips and peas, sticky toffee pudding for afters, and a mug of tea.
He hadn’t even taken a mouthful of food when Richards arrived at the table with a pasta salad and a bottle of water.
‘Well?’
She read from a piece of paper. ‘Low tide is five past seven in the morning and high tide is eight minutes to two in the afternoon, but if we miss that there’s another low tide in the evening at twenty-eight minutes past eight and another high tide at thirty-eight minutes past midnight.’
‘So, if we get there early we should have at least seven hours to take a look around.’
‘You’re not planning on getting there for seven o’clock in the morning, are you?’
‘The early bird...’
‘It’s forty-one miles and will take us an hour and ten minutes on the M11, M25, A12 and A414 into Maldon.’
‘Only if we leave early. If we leave later we’ll get clogged up on the A12 during rush hour.’
‘What time do you intend to leave?’
‘Half past five.’
Her eyes opened wide. ‘That’s the middle of the night. I’d have to get up at half past four to get ready.’
‘I could go on my own. Of course, it is Saturday, you could have a lie in, catch up with your beauty sleep, and I could take Digby instead. But on Monday you’d have to wear your uniform.’
‘Why?’
‘Because that’s what coppers who are pounding the beat in Cheshunt wear these days.’
She pulled a face. ‘You’ll drive?’
‘I’ll drive.’
‘Okay, I suppose I could sleep on the back seat. We’re not going into the station afterwards, are we?’
‘I don’t think that will be necessary.’
‘So, I could come back and catch up with my sleep?’
‘If you were that desperate.’
‘I should imagine I’ll be on my last legs having lost three hours sleep.’
‘Do we know anything about Northey Island?’
‘It’s a Nature Reserve, which is mostly salt marsh and tidal creeks owned by the National Trust.’
‘So, no one actually lives there?’
‘There are two houses on the island. A caretaker lives in one, and the other is let out to holiday makers.’
‘I’m beginning to feel despondent.’
‘Why?’
‘Well, unless the caretaker is the man we’re looking for, which doesn’t seem likely, then anybody could have visited the island and helped themselves to some white thorn.’
‘Meaning?’
‘Meaning – that knowing the location the white thorn was obtained from doesn’t really help us.’
‘Are we giving up then? It is Friday, and you said you’d make a decision by Friday. We’ve also got a proper murder case now as well.’
‘Which is at a dead end due to lack of evidence.’
‘Oh yes, I forgot. Well, if we give up trying to find the missing persons now, then we don’t have to go to Northey Island, and I don’t have to get up at half-four in the morning.’
‘We’re not giving up on the missing persons. There, that’s Friday’s decision, and I’ll make another decision on Monday.’
‘So, what did you print off?’
Chapter Seventeen
After lunch he still had an hour before the press briefing so he took Richards back into the incident room.
‘What are we doing in here again?’
‘You wanted to know what I printed off?’
‘You’re going to trick me?’
‘I never trick you.’
‘You always trick me.’
‘Well, today I’m not going to.’
‘That’ll be a novelty.’
‘So, you don’t want to know?’
‘I definitely want to know.’
‘Shut up then.’ He pulled a sheaf of papers from his inside pocket, placed them on the table, and began straightening them out. ‘Rowan Grieg emailed me copies of all her research.’
Richards looked over her shoulder. ‘Oh God, Sir. If anyone finds out she did that you’ll be chopped meat.’
‘Chopped meat! Have you been watching the Crime Channel again?’
‘They chopped this man up, put him through a meat grinder, and made pies out of him.’
‘Sweeny Todd and his floozy Mrs Lovett were doing that in 1847. In fact, there’s not many ways of murdering people and disposing of the bodies that the English didn’t invent first.’
‘Are you going to show me what you’ve got under your hands?’
‘Only if you promise me on Toadstone’s life that you won’t tell anyone what you’ve seen.’
‘Why Paul’s life?’
‘You like him. Do you want to see him die a horrible death?’
‘If I open my mouth, we’ll all die a horrible death.’
‘So, you’re going to keep it shut then?’
‘Yes.’
‘I haven’t had a chance to look at what she sent me myself yet.’ He skimmed each document in turn and then passed it to Richards. There was a copy of the list of fifty names Grieg had already given him. The second document was an electronic journal of her activities for the previous year giving a summary of each day/event – the people she was pursuing and how they linked to P2, who she met, what they had told her, and so on. In fact, it all reminded him of Simon Weisenthal’s efforts in hunting the Nazis after World War II. On the last page of the journal – which was yesterday – was her scheduled meeting at four o’clock in the afternoon with a man called Luca Scamarcio – almost definitely a false name, and probably her killer. The third document contained pages of financial information – she was following the money, he thought.
What was he doing with all this information? He realised then that he wasn’t the slightest bit interested in P2. Yes, they were probably responsible for Rowan Grieg’s death, but proving it would be an almost impossible task for which he was hardly equipped. The only reason he knew about the covert Masonic lodge was because of the clue that Alex Knight had extracted from Lathbury. Now, with fifty names on that list, he wasn’t much better off. Not only that, he’d taken it for granted that his father was on that list, but it had gradually dawned on him that maybe he wasn’t. Also, if he ever did find out who his father was, he had to be prepared for being the son of a killer, or worse. It was all becoming far too messy, and he didn’t want to know anymore.
He stopped looking at the documents and scooped them all up.
‘Hey!’ Richards said. ‘I haven’t finished.’
‘You don’t need to.’
‘But...’
‘Are we interested in P2?’
‘What do you mean?’
‘Well, if it wasn’t for the fact that I’d received that clue from Lathbury, we wouldn’t even know P2 existed.’
‘And?’
‘We were looking for my parents not investigating P2.’
‘Yes, but don’t we have to find out about P2 to get the information on your parents?’
‘No, who I am is not that important anymore. We’ve seen what happens to people who investigate P2. Do you want a needle in your neck?’
‘But they killed Rowan Grieg.’
‘Do you think we’ll ever be able to prove it?’
‘Well... we have the telephone records, the blood sample, and the hotel security DVD.’
‘Think about it. Do any of those things provide evidence of P2 involvement?’
‘No, but...’
‘Let’s say Toadstone gets the telephone records and the killer’s number is on there; let’s say he finds liquid mercury in the blood analysis; and let’s say said killer’s face is plastered all over the security DVD – so what?’
‘Well, we hunt him down and bring him to justice.’
‘Okay, let’s say he walks into the station, and we lock him up – then what?’
‘Did you get out of bed on the wrong side this morning?’
‘All I’m saying is that we’ll never get P2.’ He waved the papers in the air. ‘All this means nothing in the context of Rowan Grieg’s death, or who my parents were.’
‘So, what are we going to do?’
He stood up, folded the papers again, and put them back in his pocket. ‘I don’t know, but I’ve got a press briefing now.’
‘Should I come with you?’
‘You’re not going to start pirouetting, pouting, and posing for the cameras, are you?’
‘I don’t do that.’
‘You do it every time. You’re like a moth attracted to the flashlights.’
‘You’re making it up.’
‘We’ll see.’
***
On the way down the stairs he had a thought. ‘Go into the press briefing, find Catherine Cox, and escort her to an interview room.’
‘She won’t like that. Do you want me to arrest her?’
‘If that’s what it takes.’
‘Why?’
‘I don’t want her asking questions about P2 for everyone to hear.’
‘What about the freedom of the press?’
‘No such thing, and stay with her. If she’s not in the press briefing it won’t take me long to tell them that the investigation is at a dead end, then I’ll come and join you.’