by Ellis, Tim
‘By the way, Gilbert.’
‘Sir?’
‘Haven’t you got one of our detectives at Hoddesdon – a DC Isolde Koll?’
‘Not that I’m aware of, Sir.’
‘I could have sworn it was Hoddesdon – must have got it wrong. Have a good day anyway, Gilbert.’
‘And you, Sir.’
Chapter Twelve
The afternoon lecture had been different again. Professor Sibel Hodge had waxed lyrical on Gender, Youth Crime and Justice – more specifically, the patterns of girls’ offending and societal responses to such.
Jerry had been fascinated by the shifting focus from girls’ sexuality and status offending, to their apparently increasing violence and alcohol use, and had decided to buy the professor’s book from the shop on the way home.
This was what she was doing a law degree for. Where had she been that she didn’t know about these things? She’d had her head stuck in the sand – that’s where. Well, the worm was turning – Jerry Kowalski had joined the war. She was going to carry the banner for women’s rights.
Julie Wilkinson had been a real pain in the backside all afternoon – she’d been wittering on incessantly about this and that, commenting on what the professor was saying and asking her stupid questions when all she wanted to do was listen to the lecture and get involved with the discussion. When “Shut the hell up” didn’t work, she’d moved along the row to get away from her. She should have known that wouldn’t deter the crazy bitch either. The next time she’d looked up from her notes Julie was sitting next to her again – smiling – as if nothing untoward had happened.
She was beginning to think that there was something seriously wrong with Julie Wilkinson. A normal person would get the message, apologise for being a pain and give her some space. Everything Jerry said or did seemed to bounce right off her without having any effect. Didn’t the woman have feelings? Didn’t she care what others thought of her?
Outside the lecture theatre Julie had barged everyone else out of the way, so that she could walk with her.
‘Are you going to the station?’
‘I’m going to the shop first.’
‘I was going there as well. Are you buying the professor’s book?’
‘Yes.’
‘I’ll walk with you to the station.’
‘No thanks.’
‘It’s no trouble.’
‘I don’t want you to. Stop following me round like a lap dog. I’m sure you’ve got other things you should be doing?’
‘No. I was only going to do more studying tonight.’
‘Well, I do have things to do even if you don’t.’
‘Do you need any help?’
‘No.’
‘We could study together.’
‘No.’
In the shop they both bought the professor’s book: A Discourse on the Changing Behaviour of Girls and the Criminal Justice System.
‘Goodbye,’ she said to Julie and headed towards the exit. Julie followed her, and when she stopped at the top of the steps outside to put the book in her bag, Julie stopped as well. She turned round. ‘What now?’
‘I just thought we could walk together.’
‘No, I don’t want to walk with you. Go away and leave me alone. Which part of those two things don’t you understand?’
‘Sorry.’
As she walked down the steps she felt really mean, but . . .
‘See you next Tuesday,’ Julie called after her.
Maybe she needed to talk to someone about the crazy woman who wouldn’t leave her alone. What would the university do – write her a letter? Have a quiet word in her ear? She was at a loss about what to do. She didn’t want Julie thrown off the course – just to leave her alone.
She showed her Oyster card to the machine and the gates snapped open. The station was busy, cranking itself up for rush hour. Why did they still call it “rush hour” when the rush lasted at least three hours? She smiled. Another evolutionary throw-back. There was no need to ring Ray or Charlie. She’d be seeing Ray later, and she’d give Charlie a ring when she reached home to make sure everything was all right.
Her phone activated – an unknown number. Was it Leanne Pettigrew again?
‘Hello?’
‘Please help me.’
‘Why? What’s happened?’
‘I took the baby and ran like you said I should, but I couldn’t take anything with me. I need help.’
‘Where are you?’
‘I’m at a friend’s house, but he’ll find me if I stay here.’
‘Have you rung Social . . . ?’
‘They won’t do anything. They haven’t done a damned thing even though they knew he’d been beating me.’
‘Just a minute.’ She was stuck in a main thoroughfare again. Once she’d moved out of the flow of traffic she squatted down, took out her notebook and pen and said, ‘Tell me where you are then.’ She wrote the address down as Leanne said it. ‘I’m in London at the moment. It will take me at least an hour and a half to get to you.’
‘Please hurry.’
‘Isn’t there somewhere else you can go?’
‘No, I’ll be all right here for a little while – just hurry.’
The call ended.
Maybe she should ring Ray and get him to send a squad car round to the address. She pulled a face. He wouldn’t do it. She could hear him saying, “Are you trying to get me the sack?”
After studying her options on the tube map, she decided to catch the train from Temple to Mile End on the District Line, and then switch platforms for a Central Line train to Chigwell – which was where she’d parked her car this morning. She checked the travel time – an hour and five minutes. An hour and a half was a good guess.
When she reached the house and picked Leanne Pettigrew and her baby up – then what? She needed somewhere to take them – but where? The obvious place was a women’s refuge, but all her numbers had been lost in the fire. There were no numbers for a women’s refuge in her phonebook and no addresses or telephone numbers on the internet. She couldn’t phone Social Services because she wasn’t meant to be getting involved. Charlie was probably in court . . .
The train arrived, and she had to stand up near the door. She phoned Cookie.
‘Hi, Jerry.’
‘How are you?’
‘I’m good. What can I do for you?’
‘I need the telephone numbers of women’s refuges near Woodford.’
‘You’ll be lucky. It’d be easier if you’d asked me to steal the Crown Jewels, but I’ll see what I can do.’
‘Thanks.’
The call ended.
Next, she phoned her mum to say she’d be late home. She didn’t know what she would have done without her.
***
In the Shambolic Restaurant Parish ordered the stuffed pumpkin flowers and potato kebabs. While Maddie had a Greek salad with feta cheese. To drink, they both settled on the freshly squeezed orange juice.
‘What do you think, Sir?’
He laughed. ‘No, that’s not the way it works. You tell me what you think, and then we discuss it. Did I tell you that I’m a tutor detective, which means I train people to become detectives – my current partner is one such trainee.’ He took out his wallet and passed her a business card. ‘If you decide to leave the Army and want to join the police force, give me a ring, I’ll see what I can do.’
‘Thanks.’ She slipped the card into the pocket of her shirt. ‘Do you think the Major is telling the truth?’
‘Do you think he is?’
She smiled.
The waiter brought their food and they began eating.
‘Yes. I think he’s telling the truth.’
‘He might be a very good actor.’
‘He’s a Major, which means he’s not stupid. If he wanted to kill her, why do it then? He could have killed her at any time.’
‘You heard him, he couldn’t get off the base very much. Maybe it was the
only time he had available. Not only that, doesn’t everybody have to sign out if they leave the camp?’
‘Yes . . . officially. Sometimes though . . .’
‘Ah! So, he could have left the base at any time without anybody knowing and that would give him an alibi?’
‘Yes, which makes it all the more likely that he’s telling the truth.’
‘Unless he did leave the base without signing out, but once he realised that he’d been seen he then had to devise another plan.’
‘People aren’t that devious.’
‘People are exactly that devious and more. I want you to obtain a complete list of the times he signed out and back into the camp in the last month, and we’ll cross-reference that with what he’s telling us and what we know.’
‘And when the other three women went missing.’
‘Exactly.’
She nodded. ‘I can get that. Something else to think about is: If he couldn’t get away from the base very much, where did he find the time to kidnap or kill another three women?’
‘Good point. These stuffed pumpkin flowers are good.’
‘The Cypriots have some nice dishes. What’s your partner like?’
‘You’ll meet Mary Richards later. We’ll put everything on the incident board in her room and look at the case as a whole. As to what she’s like – I’m biased because I’ve officially adopted her as my daughter. She’s younger than you, twenty-two and . . .’
‘She’s young to be training as a detective, isn’t she?’
‘I plucked her from the jaws of obscurity and made her famous. Some people are good at pottery, inventing or golf – her particular skill is solving murders – especially those involving serial killers.’
‘Why did they send you to Cyprus?’
‘I needed a holiday.’
‘Really.’
‘I’m the best.’
‘The best what?’
The corner of his mouth went up. ‘That’s a good question. So, the Major said that Miss Makhairas’ family didn’t know. Do you think that’s true?’
‘Possibly. The majority of Greek Cypriots are very religious – Greek Orthodox. Five years ago a large proportion of marriages were arranged by the father, but not so much anymore.’
‘They might very well have known their daughter had shamed the family by sleeping with – not only a man outside marriage – but an Englishman as well. Could it have been an honour killing?’
‘No, they don’t do that type of thing here. Well, the Christians don’t anyway. Do you know how many murders they had here last year?’
‘A thousand?’
‘Four. Cyprus has a very low crime-rate – not just murder, but all crimes.’
‘Sounds like the ideal place to retire.’
‘There are about eight thousand ex-pats living here on a permanent basis.’
‘Are you moonlighting for the Cypriot Tourist Board?’
She smiled. ‘I thought I’d get some background information just in case it was helpful and you wanted to know.’
‘Very good. When did Cyprus last have a serial killer? Do you know that?’
‘Never. Is that what you think we’ve got here?’
‘Did I say that?’
Maddie finished her salad. ‘I find it hard to believe that someone came in and killed the woman while Major Durrell was in the shower.’
‘I thought you believed he was innocent.’
‘I do, but his story sounds unbelievable.’
‘Which suggests that it might be plausible. What I’d like to know is how the two witnesses saw the Major arrive and leave, but didn’t see anyone else.’
‘If there was someone else. Also, there’s no evidence in the flat that anyone else was ever there.’
‘Exactly. I can certainly see why Inspector Kefalis might be convinced the Major is the killer, but we need to eliminate all the other possibilities before we jump to the same conclusion. I don’t understand why Durrell didn’t call for the police and an ambulance as soon as he found her. I don’t believe him when he says he panicked, or that he wiped his fingerprints off the handle of the knife – it’s too convenient.’
‘Which is basically saying that you believe he’s lying and that he killed her.’
His face creased up. ‘There’s something more going on. I don’t know what yet, but we’ll get to the bottom of it. Things are also complicated by the fact that we can’t read the post mortem and evidential analysis reports. That’s why I’ve asked my head of forensics – Paul Toadstone – to come over here and help us.’
His phone activated.
‘Talk of the Devil . . . About time, Toadstone.’
‘You won’t believe the problems . . .’
‘We all have problems – stop whining. Well?’
‘I’ll be on Flight PFO517 to Paphos. The plane arrives at eleven-thirty tonight your time . . .’
‘Eleven-thirty! Don’t think anyone’s going to come and meet you at that time. Are you booked into the Four Seasons hotel?’
‘Yes.’
‘Well, that’s one thing you’ve done right at least. You’ll just have to get a taxi from the airport to the hotel, and I’ll see you at breakfast at seven-thirty in the morning – don’t be late.’
‘Do you want to know . . . ?’
‘Is it important?’
‘Not really – no.’
‘Then save it. I’ll see you in the morning. Oops – there’s a tunnel . . .’ He cupped a hand round his mouth and made a crackling sound, then ended the call.
Maddie laughed. ‘Don’t you like him?’
‘I think he’s great. He saved my life once.’
‘You were giving him a hard time.’
‘I have to keep him on his toes. If he thought I liked him he’d take advantage of my good nature.’
‘I doubt that.’
‘Let’s get back to the Major, shall we? What do you think about the message?’
‘I don’t know. It doesn’t sound like something a Cypriot man would do.’
‘Is the killer a man?’
‘Well . . .’
‘Don’t make assumptions. A woman could just as easily have killed Caterina Makhairas – a jealous lesbian lover for example, or someone who wanted the Major for herself.’
‘Mmmm, I hadn’t thought of that.’
‘Richards thinks the other three women are dead, which . . .’
‘How can she know something like that?’
He shrugged. ‘She’s usually right.’
‘I just can’t believe that anyone would want to kill Miss Makhairas.’
‘Unless she’s one of the victims in a series.’
Her brow furrowed. ‘You think it’s the work of a serial killer?’
‘I didn’t say that, but . . . it would explain the note and possibly the other missing women.’
‘Or, we’re just minor characters in Major Durrell’s little drama.’
He smiled. ‘Good. I think you’re getting the hang of how we investigate murders.’
‘Where to now?’
‘Konia, I think. Let’s go and take a look at the crime scene that isn’t a crime scene anymore, and then we can talk to the two witnesses who saw the Major arrive and leave.’
***
‘They know you’re at Hoddesdon,’ Stick said as he climbed into the car.
‘Oh God! How the hell did they find out?’
‘I don’t know, but they have. We’d better tell the Chief. I expect they’ll move you somewhere else tomorrow.’
‘I don’t know if I like being a witness for the prosecution anymore.’
‘I would be doing what you’re doing if I were in your shoes,’ he said.
‘Would you?’
‘Yes. I joined the police to fight on the side of right. If I found that wasn’t the case, then I’d do something about it. So I admire what you’re doing.’
‘Thanks. What now?’
‘Back to the station . . .’
His phone activated. ‘DS Gilbert?’ He listened to what the officer in despatch was telling him and then said, ‘We’re on our way.’ He ended the call.
Koll glanced at him. ‘What?’
‘There’s been another shooting on the A406 – let’s go’
Koll pulled out of the parking space and put her foot down. ‘That means we’re back to square one, doesn’t it?’
‘Yes. GeneTest, whatever Samantha Morrow was working on, her estranged husband are all irrelevant now. Unless . . . there’s some connection between Morrow and the latest victim.’
‘Do you think there will be?’
‘I think the connection is the killer. We’ll take a look at the new victim’s background, but our main focus now should be on the shooter and the Remington 700 sniper rifle he’s using. I have the feeling he’s going to keep killing until we stop him.’
‘So, you think Morrow and the new victim were chosen at random?’
‘It’s certainly looking that way.’
‘It’s hard to imagine that one minute you’re driving along listening to the radio, and the next some lunatic has put a bullet through your heart. Where’s the logic in that?’
‘That’s the point – there is no logic to it.’
‘It makes you doubt the existence of God.’
He kept quiet. Religion was not a subject he ever felt comfortable discussing.
It was the wrong time of day to be going anywhere, and it took them two hours to reach the kill zone, which was a long way away from the place where Samantha Morrow had been shot. They could see a black plume of smoke spiralling upwards from miles away, and the chaos and tailbacks were also on the westbound carriageway instead of the eastbound one.
Koll pulled off the A406 onto Harbet Road, next to Banbury Reservoir and parked on waste ground adjacent to the roundabout. There were five police cars, two fire engines and the white unmarked forensic truck.