by Tim Ellis
‘And we’re very grateful you did,’ Tracy said. ‘Goodness knows what he had planned for us.’
‘Where is Inspector Parish?’ Richards said, the concern evident in her voice.
They heard a noise from inside the hide. When they looked for Maitland he had gone.
‘I should have tied him up while I had the chance,’ Mr Chubley said. ‘Never did like him. What’s been going on here, anyway?’
Richards moved back into the hide and said over he shoulder, ‘As far as we know, Mr Maitland isn’t who he says he is. That’s really all we know, except there are still twenty-nine missing teenagers.’
The torch was still on the floor. She picked it up, and then found the other one, which she passed to Tracy.
‘Where’s Maitland?’ Tracy said shining the torch around the inside of the hide.
‘There must be another door out of here,’ Mr Chubley said.
They examined the walls and then the floor and eventually found a well-concealed trapdoor in the floor at the far end of the hide.
Grainger Chubley lifted the metal ring-pull handle in the trapdoor and found a ladder leading into the darkness. ‘I’ll go first,’ he said swinging the baseball bat onto his shoulder. ‘I don’t think he’s gonna argue with Herbie here a second time.’
Richards shone the torch down the hole to allow Chubley to see where he was going. ‘You shouldn’t come,’ she said to Tracy.
‘You don’t think I’m staying up here on my own, do you?’
‘Well, don’t blame me if you get yourself killed.’
‘Why would I blame you? I do have a mind of my own, you know.’
‘I’m just saying. We don’t know what’s down there, or what might happen.’
‘If it’s good enough for you, it’s good enough for me.’
‘Whatever,’ Richards said, as she stepped onto the ladder. She wasn’t prepared to argue with the stupid bitch.
What was down the hole? And where was Inspector Parish? What had Maitland done to him? Now that she had time to reflect, she was worried about what they might find.
Chubley helped her down the last few steps. They waited for Tracy to descend, and then they moved along an earthen tunnel, which had wooden stanchions and reminded Richards of a miner’s tunnel.
They reached an opening on the left. Chubley – his baseball bat ready to hit a home run – led the way along a short tunnel, which opened out into a large low-ceilinged cavern.
‘Oh my God,’ Tracy said, putting a hand over her nose. ‘It stinks.’
There were two wooden tables in the middle of the room. On each was a dead body, and Maitland was sprawled on top of the bodies with staring eyes and vomit dripping from his mouth.
Richards shook her head. ‘He must have poisoned himself.’
‘No wonder you’re a detective,’ Tracy said.
‘What are those things underneath Maitland?’ Chubley said.
‘Bodies.’ Richards leaned closer holding a hand over her mouth and nose. ‘Burnt shrivelled bodies, and it looks as though Maitland was trying to replace the skin on them piece by piece – he was sewing each piece together like a patchwork quilt.’
‘Who do the bodies belong to?’ Tracy said. ‘And more importantly – where has the skin come from?’
Richards moved back out into the tunnel. ‘We think the bodies are probably his two children, and the skin must come from the missing teenagers.’
They headed towards a flickering light further along the tunnel. Knowing that Maitland was dead Richards didn’t feel the need to be careful anymore.
‘Sir?’ she called.
‘Is that you, Richards?’
‘Yes.’
‘You took your time.’
They reached the room that Parish was in, and stopped on the threshold in horror.
Tracy took three paces backward and vomited down the wall. ‘I’m going back outside,’ she said.
‘Where’s Maitland?’ Parish said.
‘He killed himself,’ she said moving further into the room to look at Allan Cousins.
Parish grunted. ‘Probably a good job.’
Chubley bent down and cut Parish’s restraints.
‘Thanks,’ he said rubbing his wrists and standing up. ‘Richards, go outside and call for an air ambulance, and get Toadstone and his team here.’
‘No rush with the air ambulance,’ Allan said. ‘As you can see, there’s not much left to save.’
‘I’m so sorry,’ Richards said. Tears ran down her face.
‘It’s my own fault, I suppose. I should have been content with the life I had.’
‘You have a daughter called Allana.’
Allan also began crying. ‘Oh God, thank you for telling me. My beautiful Ruthie gave me a daughter! How wonderful to learn that before I die, and Ruthie called her Allana.’ He completely broke down, and couldn’t speak for some time. Then he said, ‘My mum wants nothing to do with her, does she?’
Parish came up and touched her arm. ‘I’ll go out and phone, shall I?’
Richards nodded. ‘Yes please.’ To Allan she said, ‘No she doesn’t.’
Allan’s lip curled up. ‘When you inform my mum that I’m dead, will you also tell her that my last wish was that she welcome Ruthie and my daughter into the family?’
‘I’ll do that, but...’
‘You seem like a very nice person, Miss. Don’t waste your breath telling me I’ll have a long and fruitful life, and that I’ll be able to tell her myself. We both know that isn’t going to happen. It’s just a matter of time before I die, but thank you for being here and talking to me. If I’m still alive when they put me on the air ambulance, will you come with me – I don’t want to die alone? I’ve been so alone for so long now.’
Richards found it hard to force the words out. ‘Yes, I’ll come with you.’
Aftermath
Richards travelled in the air ambulance with Allan Cousins, but he died on the way to King George Hospital. The last word on his lips was his daughter’s name.
Richards broke her heart, and wondered where Dr Suresh was when she needed him.
She phoned Parish, and told him what had happened.
‘Go home, Richards,’ he said. ‘Digby needs his walk. You’ll find walking that crazy dog therapeutic.’
‘I should come back to the island.’
‘You should do no such thing. There’s nothing for you here. There’s nothing for either of us here.’
‘Are you coming home? I don’t want to be on my own in the house.’
‘Yes, I’ll be setting off soon.’
***
St Peter’s Hospital in Maldon ran a shuttle service with their three ambulances between low and high tides. They ferried the bodies of the other twenty-eight teenagers – after they had been excavated from the walls of Maitland’s cavern of horror – from Osea Island to an old freezer room large enough to accommodate them all at the rear of the hospital to await post mortem. The families would be contacted in due course. The last bodies to be removed were those of Maitland and his two children, which were yet to be confirmed by DNA analysis.
Toadstone brought two forensic teams. One was despatched to Maitland’s home at 7 Rock Hall Cottages in Goldhanger, while the other team examined the hide and underground caverns.
‘Good work, Sir,’ Toadstone said.
‘Hardly, Toadstone. If we hadn’t put his name through CrimInt, and he hadn’t panicked, we probably would never have caught him.’
‘But isn’t that the way these things happen? Good police work led you here in the first place.’
‘Why are you being nice to me, Toadstone? I haven’t got any money, you know?’
‘You’d better go home now before the tide covers the causeway. There’s nothing left for you to do here.’
‘I wish I could have saved just one of those kids, Toadstone.’
‘You did, Sir. With Maitland dead you saved the thirty-one he would have killed.’
&n
bsp; ‘Yes, I suppose I’d better go. Don’t want to get stuck here overnight, do I?’
‘No. Goodnight, Sir.’
‘Goodnight, Toadstone.’ When he was in the Saab he cried, and then he drove back over the causeway.
***
‘You’ve been keeping something from me, Abby,’ the Worshipful Grandmaster said.
They were in a side room of the P2 Lodge, which was a secret hall over fifty feet below Lincoln House on High Holborn, close to the Royal Courts of Justice. The Banqueting Hall – as it was called – had been built 200 years before by the Mad Mole – Joseph Williamson – who was a Victorian philanthropist. He employed people to build miles of tunnels, rooms, and halls beneath London so that – in his own words – “They received a weekly wage and were thus enabled to enjoy the blessings of charity without the attendant curse of stifled self-respect”.
Her heart rate increased. ‘I’m sorry?’ She began to replay the events of Parish and Richards in the interview room in her head. How in God’s name had he found out? She had been alone in the monitoring room, no recording of the events had taken place, and she certainly hadn’t told a third party about what had happened. He had someone spying on her in her own police station, the bastard. A whole catalogue of names ticker-taped through her head. Who the hell could it possibly be?
‘You should know by now that people don’t keep secrets from the Worshipful Master, Abby. I have learned – from a reliable source – that your Inspector Parish has given Rowan Grieg’s research, which she sent him by email before her timely demise, to a reporter from the Chigwell Herald called Catherine Cox. I’ve also been informed that you knew about this. What have you got to say in your defence? Think very carefully before you answer.’
If he knew, then he knew everything. There was no point in lying, or trying to bluff her way out of it. ‘Yes, I knew. In my defence, I was waiting to see how it all played out rather than bother you with trivial matters. Have Parish and Richards forgotten about his parentage? Has Catherine Cox the requisite skills to use effectively the information she has been given? Rowan Grieg was an exceptional journalist. We played cat and mouse with her for many years, but in the end she became too dangerous to keep alive. I don’t believe we need do anything extreme at the moment. The prudent course of action is to watch and wait.’
‘I trust your judgement, my dear. I needn’t remind you though, that if I have to intervene to prevent a catastrophe, your head will also roll.’
‘No, there’s no need to remind me. I understand the consequences of failure.’
‘Excellent. I have high hopes for you, Abby. One day, you could be the first ever, female Worshipful Master. Not just of P2, but within Freemasonry worldwide.’
‘Thank you, Master.’
‘Oh, I nearly forgot, I had the Senior Warden look into your Inspector Parish’s parentage. I can tell you that should he renew his interest in discovering who his parents are, he will be terminated forthwith. Pocock’s actions in that respect were correct – the information is far too damaging to allow it out of the lodge. When you become Worshipful Master, you will understand. Now, shall we go into the lodge meeting?’
‘You lead, Master, I will follow.’
Lord Peter Elias smiled. ‘Which is as it should be.’
***
Catherine couldn’t believe her luck. She had just finished reading the information Jed Parish had given her about P2. Confirmation, if she needed it, that he really did love her. One day, he’d leave Angie, and she’d be waiting for him. In the meantime, she needed to make a name for herself.
She had been very aware of Jed’s warning. The one thing she didn’t want to do was die, and he didn’t want her to die either. She smiled. At night, she dreamt of his hands all over her, and often woke up with drenched sheets. Oh, she still had the nightmares, but they were being forced out by her wet dreams of Jed Parish.
A copy of the P2 information was spread out around her living room floor. The first thing she had done, after Jed had given her the information, was to photocopy everything twenty times. She had put the copies in A4 envelopes and given ten envelopes each to two solicitors with instructions that should she die naturally, or unnaturally, they were to send the envelopes to every major newspaper and television channel in the country. Then she had printed out everything she could find on the secret Masonic Lodge.
Yes, they were there, all right. In the shadows, but for what purpose? And who were they? Rowan Grieg’s death was testament to the lengths they would go to remain anonymous. She had to be very, very careful. Nobody knew she had Rowan Grieg’s research. No one knew she was carrying on where Rowan Grieg had left off. That’s how it should remain until she told the world who they were, and what they’d been doing.
She scooped the wineglass from the coffee table, and took a long swallow of the cheap red plonk she’d bought at the local supermarket. Then she sent an email to Jed Parish telling him to email her the originals of Rowan Grieg’s research. She had the idea of adding two kisses to the bottom of the email, but thought better of it. She was slightly inebriated, and giggled. Maybe she should take some photographs of herself in those red silk French cami-knickers and bra, and attach them to an email – give him something to remember her by. She resisted the idea, closed the laptop, and went to bed to dream about Jed Parish.
Monday, 17th July
Sunday was spent recuperating. He took Digby for a long walk, and spent some quality time in bed with Angie. Richards stayed in bed most of the day watching the Crime Channel, and trying to make some sense of what had happened.
On Monday – with batteries re-charged – they were ready to go again. After the Chief had been briefed, Parish called a final meeting in the incident room and told Lola and Kowalski what had taken place on Saturday.
‘Toadstone is still supervising things at Osea and Maitland’s house in Goldhanger. Up to now, the only thing of note that they’ve found at the house is a black and white family photograph of him, his wife, and the twin boy and girl. All it had on the back was ‘Lincoln 1964’.’
‘We still don’t know who he really was then?’ Richards asked.
‘No. We’ve got people looking in Lincoln now, but unless there was a report of the fire in a local paper for the 10th September 1982, we’re not hopeful. We can speculate that his wife died or left him prior to that date. That possibly, he was the only survivor of the fire in which his two children died. It’s also possible that he caused the fire, and was haunted by guilt. But from that date, he became mentally unhinged. He moved up here and established a new identity. His sole purpose from that time appears to have been to bring his two children back to life by creating a human clock, and giving them new skin piece-by-piece from the teenagers he kept in that underground chamber.’
‘Was he a druid?’ Lola asked.
‘We don’t think so, but books were found in his house on everything from black magic to voodoo. It seems that he was interested in anything to do with reincarnation. He certainly believed that what he was doing would one day bring his children back to life.’
‘Another crazy bastard,’ Kowalski said.
‘And there are still lots more out there we haven’t caught yet, Ray.’
‘I don’t know if I want to any more.’
Richards touched his arm. ‘Don’t say that, Sir. You’ll be all right in time.’
‘I could take Richards off your hands, Jed.’
‘You don’t really want Richards, Ray. Don’t jump at the first half-decent detective that comes along. We’ll get you a good partner, better than Richards. One that does as she’s told, that makes a good mug of coffee, and...’
‘I am here, you know?’
‘See, interrupting her boss when he’s in full flow. Whatever happened to discipline?’
‘Yeah, I suppose you’re right, Jed. A feeling of desperation came over me for a minute. You’re right, there are much better partners out there filling in applications to work with the great Ray K
owalski, I just have to sift through them.’
‘Don’t you two worry,’ Richards said laughing. ‘I have a long memory.’
‘So anyway,’ Parish said passing a piece of paper across the table towards Lola.
‘You’re making me redundant?’
‘No, Lola. Exceptional people who are worth their weight in gold are not made redundant. That is a copy of a letter of commendation I gave to the Chief this morning. Without you, those missing teenagers would never have been found. Without your help throughout the investigation, we would still be running around like headless chickens.’
‘No, no, don’t say things about headless chickens. They be important animals for predicting the future. Where they run, and how they run, only the gods do know.’
‘The Chief is going to make sure you get a new office to work in, one with more room.’
Lola got up and hugged him. ‘Don’t you worry, Lola gonna keep your poppet safe from harm from now on. You just become Lola’s favourite Inspector.’ Her eyes and mouth opened wide. ‘But... all this fame and fortune ain’t gonna do Lola any good when Devil’s Spawn finds out I been hoodwinking her behind her back.’
‘Don’t worry, the Chief is gonna... going to speak to Inspector Threadneedle...’
‘No, no, you don’t understand. Devil’s Spawn don’t care about the Chief, she don’t care about I done got a combination, all she cares about is that I been sneaking up and down them stairs to help you solve murders. I’m finished. She gonna rip my porcupines out and use them for doormats.’
‘Don’t worry, Lola, I’ll make sure she doesn’t do anything like that.’
She flopped face down on the table. ‘You ain’t no match for Devil’s Spawn.’ Then she jumped up. ‘I gotta go and make preparations.’ She rushed out of the door without a backward glance.