by Ellis, Tim
The Breath of Life
Tim Ellis
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Smashwords Edition
Copyright 2012 Timothy Stephen Ellis
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Smashwords Edition, License Notes
This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to Amazon and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.
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Books written by Tim Ellis can be obtained either through the author’s official website: http://timellis.weebly.com/ at Smashwords.com or through online book retailers.
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To Pam, with love as always
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And the Lord God formed man of the dust of the ground, and breathed into his nostrils the breath of life; and man became a living being
Genesis 2:7
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Chapter One
Monday, 19th December
‘Breathe in, and hold...’ the antenatal midwife said. ‘Slowly breathing out.’
Angie felt like a beached whale. Jed was sitting on the mat behind her massaging her shoulders, and no doubt getting horny as well. What was she doing at her time of life having a baby? It had been a bit of a whirlwind romance with Jed. She hadn’t meant to get herself pregnant. Because of her age, and the risk of cancer, she’d stopped taking the pill. Then, in the heat of the moment, she’d forgotten to tell him to wear a condom. Now, look at her. She shouldn’t be having babies at thirty-seven.
‘It’s a shame there are all these people here,’ Jed said.
‘It’s an ante-natal class, and I know exactly what you’ve got on your mind.’
‘Yes, but you wouldn’t get pregnant again.’
‘Stop being dirty. You could damage the baby.’
‘The midwife said not.’
‘And I say not, as well.’
The baby was due in the next week. Jed wanted her to hang on to it for a Christmas Eve birth, but she just wanted her body back. She wanted the alien parasite out of her stomach.
Staff Nurse Marveen Hollingsworth raised her voice above the din. ‘Now, I want the mothers to lie back on the mat with their knees raised, and their partners should hold the mother’s head in their lap and...’
‘Jed Parish!’
‘It’s not my fault. I find all this massaging and touching strangely erotic.’
‘You can’t possibly find me attractive?’
‘Ah well, that’s where you’re wrong, you see. It’s something to do with the continuation of the species, and evolutionary hormonal forces. Men find women with big hips attractive, and a woman carrying a man’s offspring drives a man crazy.’
‘Sometimes, you talk a load of rubbish, Jed Parish.’
‘Are you two paying attention?’ Staff Nurse Hollingsworth – who looked suspiciously like a slavering bulldog – said to them.
‘Now look, we’re in the midwife’s bad books already. Massage my arms and shoulders, and try to make it look as though you know what you’re doing. I knew you’d be trouble as soon as the Chief allowed you time off to come with me.’
She was crazily in love with Jed Parish. Her ideal man, her soul mate. Even though the baby was unplanned, she wouldn’t have it any other way. This was their baby, the ultimate expression of their love for each other, and she would do anything for Jed Parish -–she'd already proven that by taking a bullet for him.
***
She’d been watching them in the antenatal clinic, and had stood behind them in the lift. Now, she followed them into the cafeteria – unrecognised, unloved, and childless. She’d had her third miscarriage a week ago. The doctor had said she would never be able to have a baby. Well, what did he know? If she couldn’t have her own baby, then she’d take someone else’s.
She bought a cup of tea at the counter, and sat down at a table by the window. Angie Parish seemed to have everything she wanted – her own house, a loving husband, and a new baby arriving soon. Well, she was going to take it all away from her. It was the least she could do after what the bitch had done to her all those years ago.
***
It had been five months since the discovery of the bodies on Osea Island, and the deaths of Detective Sergeant Ed Gorman, his wife and children – five months of not much happening in terms of murders in Essex. The murderers appeared to have gone on holiday, or at least sought victims in other counties.
Up to now, it had been a mild December, but a Siberian wind was bringing freezing temperatures, snow, and ice. The meteorological centre had promised a white Christmas, and the bookies’ odds had plummeted.
The great detective Ray Kowalski – as he now referred to himself – had been mostly repaired by the appointment of a new partner – Constable Bluebelle Nash – whom he referred to as “Nash” by mutual agreement.
‘Your parents must be crazy people calling you something like that,’ Kowalski had said.
‘They’re the last hippies on Earth,’ she told him. ‘They live in a commune in Wales, even though communes don’t exist anymore. They survive on homegrown vegetables and love.’
‘I see. So, do you believe in the concept of free love yourself?’
She smiled. ‘Oh yes, I like a lot of free love...’
He moved closer. ‘I knew there was a reason I selected you from all those other exceptional candidates.’
‘...But not with my boss.’
‘We can soon rectify that.’
‘And what do you think Jerry would say?’
‘You really know how to hurt a guy, Nash.’
She met Kowalski’s exacting applicant requirements in that she was female, young – at twenty-six – and pretty with shortish dark brown hair. A farmer’s daughter from Yorkshire with the vocabulary to match. Jerry – Kowalski’s wife – had also given Nash her blessing. As Ray had said to her at the time, ‘If Jerry doesn’t like you I’ll have to find someone else.’
‘Of course,’ Nash agreed. ‘Men are useless without women,’ and she now counted Jerry as one of her friends.
Richards still had another six months of evidence collecting before her portfolios went to the board for assessment. She still hadn’t found a man, even though Toadstone had subjected himself to a complete makeover. He’d had his bat ears pinned back, his nose was now more Roman than Caesar’s, and his teeth could have belonged to any Hollywood star. In short, he looked like a regular guy.
‘Men are all a waste of space,’ she said one morning when they were looking through the unsolved cases for something to do.
‘Toadstone has battled his way through hell to make himself attractive for you.’
‘I know, but underneath he’s the same old Paul.’
‘But you like his underneath.’
‘He’s the best friend a girl could ever have, but I don’t love him.’
‘Love’s overrated.’
‘Don’t lie.’
‘You could learn to love him.’
‘No, I don’t think so.’
‘There are lots of men out there.’
‘With the brains of an amoeba.’
‘Maybe you want to go on one of those TV shows where you get to meet men,’ Parish said, trying to be helpful. ‘You know, like “Dinner Date”, or “Take Me Out”, or...’
‘As if. I’d get the sack for bringing the police force into disrepute.’
‘Mmmm, possibly. What about being a Page 3 girl?’
‘Wou
ld you be happy for your stepdaughter to take her clothes off, and pose topless for a national newspaper?’
‘Absolutely not. Well, what about joining a dating site?’
‘They’re for desperate people.’
‘Like you?’
‘Am I really desperate?’
‘Very.’
‘Maybe I’ll have a peek at one. I’m not saying I’ll join a site, but I suppose I could take a look to see what they do.’
‘Don’t you go out with Catherine anymore?’
‘I never see her now.’
‘You mean since we gave her the P2 information?’
‘Yes. I have no idea what she’s doing.’
‘Maybe you should ring her.’
‘Or maybe she should ring me.’
‘Okay. What about Nash?’
‘We don’t like each other.’
‘Oh?’
‘She manipulates people.’
‘That’s what women do, isn’t it?’
‘Yes, but she’s... I don’t know – different.’
‘In what way?’
‘I don’t know. I can’t put my finger on it, but I think she’s trouble.’
‘Your paranoia is peeping out again.’
‘Maybe it’s good to be a little paranoid.’
Parish grunted. ‘Talking of crazy people. It’s my last session at the clinic on Friday afternoon.’
‘That’s not fair. Dr Suresh hasn’t said anything about it being my last session.’
‘Maybe it isn’t. Maybe you’ll be going for counselling until you’re an old woman. Mind you, it doesn’t help that you keep falling asleep every time you go.’
‘I know. When I walk into his office I just want to lie down on his couch and go to sleep. Do you think he’s been experimenting on me? Do you think my sleeping on his couch is a side effect of those experiments?’
‘You’re still watching the Crime Channel, aren’t you?’
She looked at her hands. ‘I am not.’
‘You haven’t told him you’re still watching it, have you? No wonder he’s not signing you off if you’re sabotaging his treatment.’
‘Sabotage is such a nasty word. I only watch itzy-bitzy programmes. Certainly not as many as I used to.’
‘Did he say you could watch the odd programme here and there? No, he did not. He said, “No more bloody Crime Channel”. It looks like I’ll have to put the parental control on again.’
‘You wouldn’t?’
‘If you can’t police yourself, I’ll have to do it for you. I am a police officer, after all.’
She put the back of her hand to her forehead. ‘No man, no Crime Channel, oh what a cruel world.’
‘And get him to do something about you being a drama queen.’
She waved a folder in the air. ‘Rowan Grieg’s murder.’
‘Put it at the bottom of the pile.’
‘You don’t think we’re ever going to solve it then?’
‘We’ve already solved it. We know exactly who killed Rowan Grieg, we just can’t prove it. And if we did try to prove P2 were responsible, we’d end up dead ourselves.’
‘So, that’s it, the murderer gets away with it?’
‘Sometimes, you have to know when to let go, Richards.’
‘If you say so.’
***
‘Abby,’ Lord Peter Elias said. ‘Tell me about our errant reporter from Chigwell.’
She had come to London at his request. They were meeting at the Whitechapel Bell Foundry – the oldest manufacturing company in England, which was established in 1420 during the reign of Henry V, and 72 years before Columbus sailed for America. She hated being summoned.
‘There’s nothing to tell, my lord.’
‘Really? And on what basis have you reached that conclusion?’
‘On the basis that she has written no articles concerning P2, and made no enquiries relating to our areas of concern. In effect, she has done nothing with the information Inspector Parish gave her. If you recall, that was what I predicted might happen.’
‘Oh, I recall your prediction very well, Abby.’ He smiled. It was a cold calculating smile. ‘You will also recall what I said would happen should your prediction be incorrect.’
‘Yes, I remember.’
‘You won’t be surprised to learn that I didn’t take your prediction too literally.’
Abby’s heart was racing, although outwardly she remained calm. ‘Oh?’
‘Thankfully, I am not restrained by my scruples. I have a man monitoring her emails, work and mobile phones. I also sent someone to search her home, simply to make sure she wasn’t hiding anything from us.’
‘And?’
‘You’ll be pleased to know that he found nothing, and that she hasn’t referred to P2 in the five months since receiving the information.’
Abby gave a sigh of relief.
‘It would seem your prediction was correct.’
‘I’m glad.’
‘I’m sure you are. Should we complete the tour? There’s a very interesting French Clock Bell in this room to the right.’
She followed him, but she wasn’t really interested in bells of any shape, size, or function. What she wanted to do was go home and drink a bottle of wine to stop her hands and legs from shaking.
***
‘Was it good, Sir?’
He sat down at his desk opposite her. ‘It was a necessary evil, Richards. A husband has responsibilities, and one of those responsibilities is to look a fool at antenatal classes in support of his wife.’
‘Was mum glad you went to support her?’
‘Ecstatic.’
‘Someone’s found a body by the way.’
‘I see, and when were you going to tell me this nugget of information?’
‘I just did.’
‘After you’d let me prattle on about antenatal classes. Well, come on then, tell me all about it.’
‘You don’t want to go down the sewers, do you?
‘Probably not, why?’
‘The body of a woman has been found in the sewers underneath the village of Hailey. Paul has sent a team into the tunnels to recover it.’
‘Who found the body?’
‘Sewage workers were down there clearing fat deposits.’
He pulled a face. ‘So, are we going to sit around here all day, or get our arses over there?’
She stood up. ‘Well, you can sit here for the rest of the day if you want to, but I’m going to Hailey. Oh, and while you were making a fool of yourself at the hospital, I walked to the garage and signed out a pool car.’
‘That’s what I like to see, initiative in action.’
‘Huh.’
They walked down to the car park. The pool car was a two-year old Ford Galaxy.
‘Are we doing the school run as well?’
‘There’s no pleasing some people.’
Richards drove up Ware Road to the village of Hailey. Police tape and a blue tent over a sewage access cover blocked the pavement. A sign re-directed pedestrians to the opposite side of the road.
The smell escaped beyond the confines of the tent, and Parish decided not to venture into the small space. Instead he called Toadstone’s name.
‘I was beginning to think you weren’t coming.’
‘Well, here we are. Have you recovered the body yet?’
‘Probably another half an hour.’
‘So, there really was no rush to get here?’
‘Except...’
‘Go on, surprise me.’
‘I thought you’d like to witness our progress on the television screen?’
He ushered them into one of his large white forensic trucks. ‘One of the team has a video camera attached to his helmet.’
‘This is exciting,’ Richards said. ‘We haven’t been in your little truck before, Paul.’
‘I would have given you a guided tour anytime, Mary.’
Parish grunted. ‘Can we get back to the business a
t hand?’
They stood behind a chubby female with brown hair tied up in a ponytail.
‘What’s wrong with the body, Toadstone?’
‘You don’t know?’
‘Would I be asking?’
‘It has no head, hands, or feet.’
‘But you have them?’
‘No, they’re missing.’
‘But you’re looking for them?’
‘In both directions, but I’m not hopeful.’
‘A body without those appendages probably won’t be any good to me, Toadstone.’
‘I know.’
They watched as the camera panned slowly around the cramped space of the old Victorian stone tunnel.
‘What are those?’ Parish asked, pointing to a collection of different sized blocks protruding from the sludge.
The woman sitting in front of the screen craned her neck and said, ‘Stones, Sir. The mortar has crumbled away, and the stone bricks have come loose from the wall and fallen into the water.’
Richards leaned down and squinted at the screen. ‘How long has the body been in the tunnel?’
Toadstone answered. ‘We think about a week.’
Parish said, ‘Is the pathologist down there?’
‘No, she hasn’t arrived yet.’
‘Where’s she coming from, the North Pole?’ He hadn’t really had much contact with Dr Megan Riley since she’d taken over from Doc Michelin. The truth was, he resented her because she was alive and Doc Michelin was dead.
‘The body will be completely contaminated, won’t it?’
Toadstone nodded. ‘I should think so.’
‘Even if we lifted a sperm sample from the body that belonged to the killer, any self-respecting barrister would argue that it could have come from anywhere, and he’d be right. God knows what’s in the water and the tunnel itself. There must be a million types of DNA down there all co-mingling.’