by David Field
‘I think I’m beginning to see the need for a genealogist,’ Willows conceded, ‘assuming of course that this weird theory of yours holds water.’
‘I won’t know that until I can enlist the genealogist onto the team,’ Mike frowned. ‘Without him, it becomes an even smaller needle and an even bigger haystack.’
‘You seem to have decided that it’ll be a “him”,’ Willows observed. ‘May I take it that you’ve already identified the person you want to hire?’
‘A personal friend of Prof. Gillies, our first-choice pathologist. I met him socially only last weekend. Name of Brandon Tait. The bonus is that we almost certainly won’t need to pay for his accommodation.’
‘So tell me in detail what his duties will be.’
‘Well,’ Mike began, pouring himself another coffee in the confident expectation that he would be there a while, ‘basically, we have to work this from both ends. First of all, we have to trawl through the PNC for details of similar bizarre deaths over the last, say, fifty years, even though the PNC doesn’t go back that far. We’re looking for common factors, coincidences, anything that will point to the organisation that did away with Jeremy Giles.’
‘You think there may be more than one of them?’
‘Convinced. For a start, this looks like something that’s been handed down through the generations, secondly it takes a great deal of determined effort, and – if nothing else – it takes more than one person to hoist a dead body up to the ceiling to make it look like a hanging.’
‘And what’s the “other end”, as you call it?’
‘That’s the really tricky bit, which I’ve kept for myself, and why I really need the genealogist. The death in 1615 was reported by two women, who must have been scandalised and enraged when nothing was done about it. They were both called “Winthrop”, which suggests that they were related to the victim, but of course their names wouldn’t have survived beyond their first marriages, assuming that there were any. I’m guessing that they began all this, as a sort of vigilante movement, but somehow I have to trace their descendants, since they’ll be our modern murderers.’
‘Sounds like a wild goose chase to me, and I have to justify the expense.’
‘At least we’re approaching the start of a new budget year,’ Mike reminded him, ‘and there’s no real point in identifying what may be a lorryload of victims if I can’t at the same time finger their murderers.’
‘Most of whom will be dead, presumably.’
‘Obviously the ones from the earlier deaths – if there were any – will be, but they’ll give me the lead to the descendants still on this mortal plane who did in Jeremy Giles.’
‘OK, Mike, you’re not usually wrong, so at least get me a quote, and I’ll retrieve your requisition request from the wpb.’
‘Can I finish my coffee first?’
‘Of course. Tell me, how’s it going down there, with your new allocation? Good to be back in the saddle again?’
‘Basically yes, although I’ve been swiftly reminded – yet again - of how the job screws up your home life.’
‘Please don’t treat the CC to any more outbursts on that subject like the last one – you’re still living under a question mark with him, remember.’
‘Not likely to forget, not with the pension only five years away. But I have to confess that apart from sticking my head round the door, I’ve had no contact with Team 1, and they don’t seem inclined to pass reports up to me. Plus, I haven’t heard a single peep from Jill Bradbury about Delilah.’
‘Van Morton gets back on Monday next, and I think Jill’s trying to impress us all with her ability to work unsupervised. Pete Mansfield’s team’s still putting together the brief on that domestic, and I’ll give instructions for them to take the next cab off the rank, but report to you in outline, in case it’s linked to this Giles business.’
‘Thanks,’ Mike said, placing the china cup carefully back on the saucer. ‘Now I’d better get back downstairs and see how the muppets are going with the magic windows.’
On the way back through the outer office, he leaned down to gaze at Geoff’s computer screen.
‘Head down in a laundry trolley?’ he queried.
‘You wanted anything bizarre,’ Geoff reminded him. ‘The hashtag word for the PNC, by the way, is “unconventional”. I wonder what classes as “conventional” in our business? But you can forget this one – her forty-three year old supervisor in the laundrette confessed to it almost before the cavalry arrived. And it was in Liverpool in 1967.’
‘Nothing else of any interest?’
‘I’m just reading this one from Manchester, sir,’ Cathy called over the dividing partition. ‘A woman cut off her husband’s thingie for having an affair with a woman called Ursula. I assume it’s no use to us, but it’s astonishing how you can key in a few search words at random and get so many weird hits. According to my screen, I’ve still got another five thousand to go.’
‘Did you get to the one about the pharmacist’s assistant and the enema?’ Geoff asked.
‘Yes, thank you,’ Cathy shouted back. ‘Put me right off morning tea, so don’t bother bringing me anything back.’
‘You, sir?’ Geoff enquired with a backward look.
‘No thanks, Geoff,’ Mike replied. ‘I just enjoyed the ACC’s hospitality, and his coffee is better than that processed bat piss in the Dining Hall. And I’ll be skipping lunch, after all this unaccustomed intake.’
He positioned himself behind his own computer screen, looked up the private mobile number recorded on his h-drive, and dialled.
‘Hello, Maggie. Are you free to talk?’
‘I will be when I get this portion of lower colon off my hands and peel the gloves off. You should come down and see this – you’d never eat Indian again.’
There was a moment’s silence, then Maggie was back on the line.
‘OK, what can I do for you?’
‘It’s more a case of what I can do for you,’ Mike replied. ‘How would you like a sexually active – or is it hyper-active? - genealogist as a house guest for a couple of weeks?’
‘Is the Pope a Catholic? No, I’ll give you an easier one than that – who do I have to murder?’
‘Believe it or not, I’m serious,’ Mike reassured her. ‘That Giles case looks as if it has a very old connection, and I need someone with Brandon’s special talents to join up a few family dots. We’ll obviously be paying his professional fees, but it would help with the budget if we didn’t have to pay for his accommodation.’
‘Believe me, sweetheart, if I can get him down here for a couple of weeks I’d be more than happy to make a large donation to the Police Welfare Fund from my own personal account. Just tell me when, and I’ll go shopping for intimate apparel.’
‘Leave it with me, but can you give me a phone number I can contact him on? And presumably he’s busy with other things, so don’t get too excited and burst a blood vessel in anticipation.’
‘Don’t get this wrong, but his number’s engraved on my heart. Or, more accurately, in my mobile directory. The same mobile I’m talking to you on. I’m putting you on “hold”, but don’t hang up.’
A few minutes later Mike had the number on his notepad, and was in the process of transferring it to the ‘quick dial’ facility on his own mobile, when Dave appeared in the doorway with a uniformed officer in tow.
‘Constable Ainsworth, meet DCI Saxby.’
‘Alec,’ the officer confirmed as he stretched out his hand. ‘Mike,’ came the reply as his host pointed to the remaining visitor’s chair and invited him to give them a ‘blow by blow account of your dealings with Troy Lesley.’
‘Pretty routine really, sir. We got the all-vehicle shout around ten thirty - I/C One male creating a disturbance in the reading room of the Central Library. We were just around the corner in O’Connell Terrace, so we took the shout and there was this scruffy little scrote in the keen custody of a very large security guard who looked like
something out of “Lawrence of Arabia”. An Arab of some description, I’d guess. Name of el Zarw. Anyway, he gave us the SP, and we nicked the kid for assault and breach.’
‘Tell us about the assault,’ Mike urged him.
‘Well, we didn’t see anything, obviously, but the security bloke reckoned that the suspect had tried to kick him in the nuts once he got him into the security office, so he’d had to headlock him. Didn’t want to press charges, so the shift sergeant told us to book the kid just for the breach. It would have been a dodgy assault anyway – just the bloke’s word for it, and the kid looked like he’d done three rounds with Danny Williams.’
‘In what way, exactly?’
‘Well, there was bruising around the eye sockets, and large red weals around his throat, and the kid complained that this el Zarw had tried to steal this computer stick from him. According to el Zarw, the kid had been trying to flog it around the library, there were complaints about the noise, and then the kid got belligerent when el Zarw told him to sling his hook, and that was when he got detained.’
‘What happened to the computer stick?’ Mike enquired.
‘It’s down in “Property”, sir. We thought it might be nicked, since the kid was trying to flog it. But I’m told that the case has been dropped.’
‘For the very good reason that the kid you nicked – Troy Lesley – was fished out of the river a day or so later. Murdered, most likely.’
‘That right, sir ?’
‘Most definitely,’ Mike confirmed. ‘And there’s no reason why we should delay your break any longer, unless there’s anything you’ve left out that might point to his killer.’
‘Nothing I can think of, sir.’
‘OK, thanks.’
Dave watched as the uniform disappeared back out into the corridor, then looked back down at Mike.
‘What did you make of that?’
‘Decidedly fishy. Can you get a copy of this el Zarw bloke’s report to me, and then execute a search warrant over your lady love’s empire and get me el Zarw’s personnel record?’
‘Not a problem, obviously, although Joy’s taken the day off today. Her lunch with Alison must be high priority, is all I can conclude.’
‘I’ll fill you in tomorrow. Right now I need to call a man about a witch.’
Once Dave had left the office, Mike looked down at his notepad and dialled the number.
‘Brandon? It’s Mike Saxby here, Bramptonshire Police. You may recall having dinner at my place last weekend. Anyway, by one of life’s curious coincidences, I now have need of your professional services in a murder enquiry.’
‘Why do the police need me?’ Brandon enquired from what sounded like a thousand miles away. ‘Your corpses usually come with more recent histories, surely?’
‘It’s a long story, but could you be available for, say, a couple of weeks in the near future? You’d be based down here, and we’d obviously pay your daily rates, and Maggie says you can stay with her.’
‘You just sold me,’ Brandon replied with a chuckle. ‘And I’m not at liberty to divulge which of those offers tipped the scales.’
‘And I’m too much of a gentleman to admit that I already know. How soon can you get here?’
‘I’m in Cheltenham at the moment, but I can complete this current client report from anywhere, so how about tomorrow afternoon, say 3 pm?’
‘Perfect. And how much will it cost us?’
‘Two weeks? My normal daily rate’s three hundred, so, allowing for dirty weekends, ten days would normally cost you three grand. But I’ll do you a bulk discount – say two and a half? And I won’t charge you any expenses, since I’ll be staying with a friend who comes with benefits and a novel line in room service.’
‘OK, I’ll get back to you, hopefully later today. Would that be convenient?’
‘Of course. I’m currently sitting in an hotel room, staring over the top of my laptop into the dreary drizzle of Cheltenham’s weekly market, so I’m not planning to go anywhere. Even if I do, I carry my mobile like a lifeline, which it is, professionally speaking.’
‘OK, catch you later,’ Mike confirmed as he disconnected the call and dialled the ACC’s personal assistant.
‘Laura? It’s Mike Saxby here. Tell the boss that the gynaecologist’ll cost him two and a half grand, and I need clearance today.’
‘Why does he need a gynaecologist anyway?’
‘Woman’s trouble - his wife,’ Mike quipped, and was in the act of putting down the phone with his trademark smirk when Cathy appeared in the doorway looking slightly embarrassed, and holding a tub of yoghurt and a plastic spoon.
‘You really shouldn’t go without lunch, sir, and there’s almost no calories in yoghurt. I have at least four a day, and they’re very tasty, in all sorts of fruit flavours.’
‘But not marmalade, I take it?’ Mike smiled back.
‘If I find one of those, I’ll buy a lorryload and put them in the office fridge,’ she grinned back.
‘Why are you so concerned for my health?’ Mike enquired.
‘Well – it’s just that – well, we need you to lead the team, and – well, we need you in peak condition, and – well, that’s about it, really.’
‘Do I remind you of your father, by any chance?’ Mike enquired playfully. Cathy turned a deep red from the neck up, and her eyes turned down to the carpet.
‘I guess DI Petrie told you about him. I was still in Primary when he left, and Mum told me that he remarried, and is now living in Derby. I haven’t seen him in all those years, and I don’t want to, but – well yes, I imagine that he’d look a bit like you these days.’
‘Handsome and distinguished?’ Mike suggested.
‘More like marmalade addicted and anxious about his weight. Do you want this yoghurt or not, sir?’
‘Of course – and thank you. I’ll try this raspberry one, and if I like it you can take me on a guided tour of the yoghurt counter downstairs at the start of our working day tomorrow. And I’m sorry if I got a bit personal there, talking about your Dad. I’ve got a daughter about the same age as you, did you know?’
‘Yes, the DI told me. And a son, apparently. I don’t have a current boyfriend, if he’s as gentle as his Dad.’
‘Back to work, Detective Constable. Anything more from Pandora’s Box?’
‘Funnily enough, I’ve got one that ticks all the boxes except one. A hanging made to look like a suicide, and a ‘U’ in the message scrawled at the side. It also fits the time-frame, since it was 2000, but it was in Cumberland somewhere, and the offender’s still doing time for it. But Geoff reckons that the same name’s in Folio P1’
‘Send it across anyway.’
‘Will do, sir. And don’t forget that yoghurt – I’ll be watching.’
The afternoon was spent thinking, and listening to the gleeful chortles from the outer office as the team read out the more bizarre of the entries on the PNC. Then it was home, to a reminder that Steven was due home the following afternoon, and a glum-faced Alison preparing the evening meal and sighing at regular intervals.
‘What’s your problem?’ Mike asked, unable to bear the atmosphere any longer. Alison poured herself a large drink, sat down next to him on the settee, and gripped his hand.
‘It’s Joy, and – and ... ’ She broke off with a choking sob, and reached out for Mike’s hand.
‘Would you still love me if I had no boobs?’ she asked huskily.
‘I didn’t marry you just for your boobs, obviously,’ Mike reassured her. ‘But please God you’re still talking about Joy?’
‘She found a lump in one of her breasts, apparently. Well, at least, Dave found it, and I presumably don’t have to draw you a diagram as to how that came about. He joked about a mole, but she realised that it was new, and consulted her doctor. Three visits to a specialist and a biopsy later, and she’s got to have a double mastectomy.’
‘Cancer?’
‘Apparently. Her mother died of it, but in her ca
se it was the womb. However, the specialist advised her to take no chances, and she’s obviously a real mess. In particular, she’s finally realised how much she needs Dave in her life, and is terrified that he’ll do a runner when her fun-bags are just scars.’
Mike thought deeply for a while, and poured himself another stiff one without seeking permission for once.
‘Does she want me to break the news to him?’
‘She didn’t say so directly, but I think she’d be mightily relieved if you did.’
‘If it’s any consolation, I don’t think Dave’s the sort of bloke who’d let that stand in the way of a relationship that he relies on so heavily for his sanity.’
‘And you?’
‘This isn’t about me – unless you have some terrible news as well?’
‘No, trust me. I just wonder how you’d react in his place.’
Mike leaned over and kissed a drying tear from her cheek.
‘I’d take you upstairs and fondle them one last time before they were taken off.’
‘It’s only omelette for tea, and it’ll keep. Shall we go upstairs so you can practice, just in case?’
Chapter Ten
Folio file P1 was lying on Mike’s desk when he came in early after a disturbed night, but he couldn’t bring himself to open it and attempt to absorb its contents. Instead, he was turning over and over in his mind what he was going to say to Dave as he stared at the back of his office door, waiting. Then the door opened, and there stood the man himself. Eight am, probably the earliest he’d ever clocked in.
‘Here’s the personnel file on El Zarw. Geoff went and got it late yesterday afternoon.’
‘Close the door and sit down, Dave. We need to have a quiet chat.’
‘It’s Joy, isn’t it?’ Dave enquired nervously. ‘She was a nervous wreck last night, and she was obviously waiting for you to speak to me this morning. I offered to leave her in peace and go home for once, but she just wanted me to hold her until she fell asleep. Then I woke up around 2, and I could hear her crying softly to herself. What the fuck’s going on, Mike?’