Through a Glass Darkly (9781301753000)

by Ellis, Tim

  ‘Very comprehensive. What does the ancestry test involve?’

  ‘For £130 you would receive a genetic profile, your direct male line, the Haplogroup you belong to, and the migration patterns of your ancestors – all in colour, of course.’

  ‘Interesting. And who do you carry out all this work for?’

  ‘Individuals, organisations such as the police, the NHS, the Border Agency, insurance companies to name but a few.’

  They arrived at Higgins’ office.

  ‘Refreshments?’

  ‘No, we’re fine thank you.’

  He directed them to sit. ‘We’re all devastated by Sam’s death. Have you any idea who or why?’

  ‘Those were the two questions I was going to ask you.’

  ‘Why would I know?’

  ‘You can’t think of anyone who would want to see her dead?’

  ‘No. Like who?’

  ‘How did she get on with her work colleagues?’

  ‘Absolutely no problem at all.’

  ‘Was she romantically involved with any of them?’

  ‘Not to my knowledge.’

  ‘What about her clients? Was there anything that she was working on which might have given someone reason to kill her?’

  ‘I hear what you’re saying, but it’s as if you’re talking in a foreign language.’

  ‘Could we have a list of what Dr Morrow was working on?’

  ‘Our client list is confidential.’

  ‘I could return later with a court order, if that would help?’

  ‘No, that won’t be necessary.’ He went to his desk and picked up two stapled A4 pages. ‘I was expecting you, and I anticipated that you might need the list.’ He handed the two sheets of paper to Stick.

  ‘Thank you,’ Stick said, and passed the list to Koll.

  ‘You know what she was working on. If you had to pick one from the list as the most likely to hide a killer, which one would it be?’

  He shook his head. ‘It’s all work she’s done before. We have other people doing the same work. She was good at her job. I just can’t believe . . .’

  ‘Somebody put a bullet through her chest, Dr Higgins, somebody who knew she’d be on the A406 at that time . . .’

  ‘Are you sure it wasn’t a random killing?’

  ‘We’re not sure of anything yet.’

  ‘If I had to pick one . . . and I say this in the strictest confidence you understand. If word got out . . .’

  ‘None of the three people in this room are going to tell anyone.’

  ‘She was carrying out background research on Lord David Mabe of Snodland. We have a client who thinks that the peer is his father . . .’

  ‘The client’s name?’

  ‘Is provided on the list.’

  Stick glanced at Koll who nodded.

  Dr Higgins continued, ‘He says that his mother used to be a prostitute and that David Mabe – before he became a peer – was a regular visitor to his mother’s flat. I think you can imagine the implications if that type of news leaked out, but what Sam also found out was that the client’s mother was Russian – Olga Tarasov.’

  ‘A honey trap?’

  ‘That’s what Sam thought. Her investigations were becoming very sensitive and involved.’

  ‘Thank you for your help, Dr Higgins.’ He stood up, but then said, ‘Do you carry out genetic modification here?’

  ‘I’ve been more than helpful, Sergeant. Everything that Sam was involved with is on that list. There are some things you don’t need to know.’

  ‘What about work for the military?’

  ‘Are you cleared for top secret?’

  ‘Yes.’

  Dr Higgins raised his eyebrows. ‘Still, I’d have to get clearance.’

  ‘That won’t be necessary for now, but if we run out of leads I might come back.’

  They were escorted back out to reception and shook hands with Dr Higgins.

  Stick smiled and waved goodbye to Polly on the reception desk.

  She waved back.

  ‘You have a friend for life there,’ Koll said.

  ‘Being nice costs nothing.’

  In the car he glanced at the list. There were two people Dr Morrow was collecting samples from – one a blood sample, the other a bone marrow sample. In addition, there was background research on two further cases besides that involving Lord Mabe; five immigration tests at Yarl’s Wood Detention Centre in Bedfordshire, three paternity tests and two ancestry tests – one from New Zealand and the other from Tasmania.

  ‘What do you think, Sarge?’ Koll asked.

  ‘I think we’ll leave Lord Mabe alone until we have nowhere else to go.’

  ‘But shouldn’t someone be told about him?’

  ‘That’s not our job. If he had Dr Morrow killed, then we’ll go after him, but we’re not the moral police.’

  ‘He could be a traitor.’

  ‘And you’d like to put him in the tower and then hang him from the portcullis as a warning to others?’

  ‘It’s certainly one option. Where to now?’

  ‘The mortuary.’

  Chapter Nine

  Sergeant Gerry Chalker barged into Chief Inspector Ezra Pine’s office and said, ‘Got her.’

  Besides the Chief, there was also DI Tony Wentworth and Inspector Adam Pincher. Between the four of them, they had Shrub End sewn up as tight as a camel’s arse in a sandstorm. Each of them were making in excess of £50,000 a month – they were raking it in – the offshore banks had never had it so good. Whatever illegal activities happened in and around Shrub End had to be authorised by “The Four” as they liked to call themselves – unlicensed high-stakes gambling, prostitution, robberies, drugs, import/export via the coast at Brightlingsea, even murder – there was a price for everything.

  DC Isolde Koll didn’t want to bathe in goats milk, didn’t want to enhance her retirement fund and didn’t want to be their bit on the side for the privilege. She thought she could spoil what they had by going to Professional Standards – not a bit of it. They’d warned her, explained to her in graphic detail what would happen if she went against them. Well, now it was time to come good on their promise.

  ‘Where?’ Pine said.

  Chalker smiled. ‘Hoddesdon. I had a feeling as soon as I rang the number.’

  ‘Is she there now?’ Wentworth asked.

  ‘No. She’s partnering someone called DS Rowley Gilbert. They’re working a murder case.’

  Pine took a swallow of his whisky-laced coffee. ‘Are you all in?’ he asked, looking at each of them in turn sitting at the oblong table in his office.

  The three nodded.

  ‘We’ve come too far to get cold feet now,’ Wentworth said.

  The others agreed.

  ‘Who?’ Chalker asked.

  The corner of Pincher’s mouth went up. ‘You know who – Michelangelo. If they want murder, we’ll give them murder. I’ll tell him to treat Koll real special.’

  They all laughed.

  ‘I would have treated her special,’ Wentworth said.

  Chalker had a faraway look in his eyes. ‘Yeah, me too.’

  ‘As soon as?’ Pincher asked.

  ‘No time like the present,’ Pine spoke for all of them. ‘The longer we leave it, the more chance of someone finding out what we’re planning to do to her. Let’s just get it done, and then we can move on with our lives.’

  Pincher stood up. ‘I’ll go and hunt Michelangelo down then. I wouldn’t be surprised if he offered do her for free when I tell him who it is.’

  Chalker rubbed his crotch. ‘I would.’

  Laughter rippled around the room.

  ***

  During the pleasant drive to see Thomas Durrell at the main police station in Limassol, he thought he’d ask a few pertinent questions about his new partner and find out what made her tick.

  ‘How long have you been stationed in Cyprus, Maddie?’

  ‘Three years.’

  ‘How long
are you posted here for?’

  ‘Three years, but I’m keeping a low profile and hoping they’ll forget about me – I like it here.’

  ‘How long have you been a Sergeant?’

  ‘Three years again. I was promoted when they posted me out here. What about you, Sir?’

  ‘You can think of me as Professor Abraham Van Helsing, but instead of hunting vampires, I hunt serial killers.’

  ‘I heard you’re from Essex?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘I didn’t realise we had that many serial killers in England.’

  ‘Tomorrow will I bring the locusts into thy coast; and they shall cover the face of the earth, that one cannot be able to see the earth: and they shall eat the residue of that which is escaped, which remaineth unto you from the hail, and shall eat every tree which groweth for you out of the field.’

  ‘Exodus: 10:4 and 10:5 – Locusts were the eighth plague of the ten plagues of Egypt.’

  He grinned. ‘I play this game with the head of forensics – a man called Paul Toadstone. I use a quote from a film, the bible, a poem, song or something else, and he has to notice when I’ve used a quote and then identify where it comes from.’

  ‘That would be hard.’

  ‘He’s a genius, a member of MENSA and he always spots when I use one and hasn’t got a quote wrong yet.’

  ‘Jeez.’

  ‘Yeah.’

  ‘So, there are a lot of serial killers in England?’

  ‘Especially around Hoddesdon.’

  ‘And you’re the expert?’

  ‘You could think of me as a drip under pressure, if you like.’

  She smirked and a dimple appeared in her cheek. ‘I like.’

  ‘How old are you?’

  ‘Are you writing my autobiography?’

  ‘No, but I’ll probably be asked to write a report about your performance. I’d hate to say you were fifty when you’re really forty-nine.’

  She laughed. ‘Thanks a bunch. I’m twenty-seven.’

  ‘I was close. Where are you from?’

  ‘A little village called Scratchy Bottom in Dorset.’

  ‘You’ve just made that up.’

  ‘I have not. It came second in a 2012 poll of Britain’s worst place names. My dad has a farm there.’

  ‘What about your mum?’

  ‘She was murdered five years ago, and they never caught who did it.’

  ‘I’m sorry to hear that.’

  ‘I still think of her, but time has made things a little bit easier.’

  ‘Yes, time will do that.’

  She glanced at him. ‘What about your parents?’

  ‘That’s a long convoluted story – maybe something for a rainy day. Any brothers or sisters?’

  ‘Two older brothers. They work the farm with my dad. I’m the baby of the family.’

  ‘I bet you were spoiled rotten. How do they feel about you being in the Army?’

  ‘They hate me being in the Army, but there’s not a lot they can do about it.’

  ‘Do you go home much?’

  ‘No, but that’s a story for another time as well. I email them, send a few pictures now and again, but that’s about it.’

  ‘Boyfriend?’

  ‘I’ve had a few, but no one at the moment. What I’ve discovered in my time as a grown-up is that men are immature, drink a lot, cheat on you at the first opportunity with your best friend, are unfamiliar with the concept of cleanliness, think of themselves first and you come somewhere after their mates, fishing, football, rugby, having a good time and a variety of other things as well and wouldn’t know a romantic gesture if it sucked their face off at breakfast. Have I missed anything?’

  ‘No, I think you’ve captured the essence of maleness with that short but succinct list.’

  ‘Good. I’d hate to do them a disservice by missing something important out.’

  He grinned. ‘You know this Inspector Kefalis?’

  ‘We’ve crossed paths a couple of times.’

  ‘No love lost then?’

  ‘No. He’s an objectionable arsehole.’

  They parked outside Limassol Police Station, which was an old three-story white stone building.

  Maddie took the lead once they were inside. ‘Inspector Kefalis, please,’ she said to the fat officer behind the desk.

  ‘He expecting you?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Take seat.’

  They sat on one of the wooden benches against the wall on the left of the door.

  ‘Now we wait,’ she said.

  Parish checked his watch. ‘It’s eleven, I thought he was expecting us.’

  ‘There is no direct translation for phrases such as “hurry up”, “be quick” or “get your arse moving”. They take their time, and use the heat as an excuse to bumble through life at half-speed.’

  ‘Can’t we . . . ?’

  ‘We could try to move things along a bit, but that will only result in everything going slower. It’s best just to go with the flow.’

  ‘It’s nothing personal then?’

  ‘No. They make you wait to show you that the English aren’t in charge anymore. They run Cyprus now, and they’ll run it at their speed not ours.’

  ‘It doesn’t seem to be working, does it?’

  ‘No.’

  While they were sitting there a stream of people, two goats, a donkey and three chickens appeared at the desk. Thankfully, the animals were under the control of a man and a woman who spoke in Greek to the officer behind the desk as if he was personally responsible for whatever it was they were complaining about. Eventually, the animals were escorted out.

  ‘Do you know what they’re saying?’ he asked Maddie, who was leaning back with her head against the wall and her eyes closed. A slight whiff of perfume squirreled up his nose.

  ‘Not a clue.’

  ‘Will you take notes during the meeting with Kefalis and Durrell?’

  ‘Of course.’

  ‘And if you want to ask any questions yourself, by all means speak up.’

  ‘Thank you.’

  Inspector Christos Kefalis appeared at twelve minutes past eleven. He had greasy black hair, at least three days growth of beard and wore a heavily creased short-sleeved linen shirt and trousers. His eyelids drooped as if he wanted to lie down on the mosaic tiles and sleep for a hundred years.

  If Parish hadn’t already known Kefalis was a police inspector he would never have guessed his occupation. Maybe a vagrant, an out of work poet, a down on his luck piano player or something along those lines.

  ‘Hello Miss Maddie. So, you are helping Inspector Parrot?’

  ‘Sergeant Madison, Mister Kefalis. And it’s Inspector Parish, as you very well know.’

  He offered his hand to Parish. ‘Sorry to keep you waiting. As you English say, I am chasing my tail at the moment.’

  Parish couldn’t recall ever having said that. He shook Kefalis’ hand and said, ‘No problem. It was good just to sit here and watch the world go by.’

  ‘I would love to do that. One day I might come to England and get an easy job.’

  Parish smiled, but didn’t rise to the bait. ‘Yes, we have a lot of easy jobs for immigrants in the UK.’

  He led them up the tiled steps to a second floor office. An electric fan stood idle in a corner. The windows were gaping open, and the cacophony and pollution from the street below poured in.

  ‘It is warm today, yes?’ he said, directing them to two dirty plastic chairs in front of a 1940s worn-out wooden desk.

  ‘It certainly is,’ Parish said. ‘Makes a change from the rain and grey skies in England.’

  ‘So, you are here about the Major?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘You have read the report we sent you?’

  ‘I have, but it’s not clear what evidence you have that points to Major Durrell being the killer.’

  ‘DNA evidence.’

  ‘That’s hardly evidence. He doesn’t deny he had sex with C
aterina Makhairas before she was murdered. I’d like copies of the post mortem report, and the reports analysing all the evidence that was found at the crime scene, please.’

  ‘They have yet to be translated.’

  ‘And when is that likely to happen?’

  Kefalis shrugged. ‘All the evidence points to the Major.’

  ‘All what evidence?’

  ‘His fingerprints were found throughout the victim’s flat.’

  ‘Of course they were, he was there – he admits that. Are his fingerprints on the murder weapon – the knife?’

  ‘No, but he could have wiped them off.’

  ‘That’s rubbish, and you know it. Why would he do that and then leave his fingerprints everywhere else?’

  ‘There are witnesses who saw him arrive and leave. They saw nobody else.’

  ‘That doesn’t mean he’s the murderer. Have you examined all the other possible explanations?’

  ‘Such as what? There are no other explanations.’ He stood up and helped himself to a cup of water from the cooler by the door, but didn’t offer them any.

  Maddie said, ‘Do you want a drink, Sir?’

  ‘Yes, please.’

  She helped herself to two cups of water and gave him one.

  ‘Thanks,’ he said gulping it all down. He felt as though he was banging his head against a brick wall. ‘I’d like to examine all the evidence myself, if that’s all right with you?’

  Kefalis shrugged. ‘As you wish.’

  ‘You still have the crime scene sealed off?’

  ‘It has been over a week. No, the crime scene is no longer a crime scene.’

  ‘What about the body of Miss Makhairas?’

  ‘She has been buried.’

  ‘What?’

  ‘It is customary to bury a dead body before the end of the third day here in Cyprus.’

  ‘In the middle of a murder investigation?’

  ‘We are at the end of the investigation, not in the middle. As far as I am concerned I have the murderer in a cell downstairs. He has been charged with the murder of Caterina Makhairas.’

  ‘And what about the other missing women?’

  ‘We are looking for them, but . . .’ He spread his arms out wide.

  Parish tried to remain calm, but he wasn’t happy with the way the conversation was going. ‘I’d like the body exhumed, please.’