by Ellis, Tim
‘Thank you for your time, Mrs Edwards...’
‘Annie.’
‘Annie.’
Chapter Ten
Elliot Towler was a waste of space. His mum had said as much so many times since he’d been knee-high to a cockroach that it must be true. His teachers had written as much in his annual reports – among other distasteful comments. His girlfriend had also said the same thing, but she got a smack in the mouth for her trouble. His dad would have echoed everyone else’s opinion of his son, but he’d signed on a ship bound for Hong Kong when Elliot was just three, and that was the last time anybody ever saw him.
He pressed call on the throwaway phone the man had given him.
‘Did you get her?’
‘Yeah, she’s stashed in the boot sleeping like a baby.’
‘Her belongings?’
‘A laptop, some files, handbag, and a small suitcase on wheels.’
‘Excellent. You know where to bring her?’
‘Yeah. Listen, are you sure I can’t, you know...?’
‘If you touch her, it’ll be the last thing you ever do.’
‘Okay, I get the message,’ but he didn’t get the message. He was thinking how he could fuck the bitch and get away with it. His dick had got him into so much trouble since he’d been able to get a hard-on that anybody would have thought he’d learned his lesson, but he hadn’t. The more trouble he got into, the more trouble he found to get into. In effect, he was a complete waste of space just like his mother had always said.
He was travelling down the A10 to London when his hard-on began to rule his brain. He pulled off onto White Stubbs Lane and kept on driving until he reached Becroft Wood.
When he found what looked like a half decent-sized track, he turned into the wood and kept on driving until he could just about turn the car around. His logic was that if he fucked the bitch while she was still unconscious – who the hell would know?
There was a concrete pole between his legs. He switched the engine off and pulled the lever to open the boot.
‘Here I come, baby,’ he said out loud as he opened the door.
Yeah, no one would know. How could they know? She’d probably know – inside, but she wouldn’t say anything. And even if she did, he would just deny it. It’d be her word against his, and she’d been unconscious, so how would she know what he’d done to her.
‘Hello, baby,’ he said as he lifted the boot. ‘Yeah, don’t you fret none, it’s coming.’ He laughed. ‘In fact, we’re both coming.’ He rubbed his crotch. ‘God, I’m as hard as a rock for you, baby.’
There was a faint whiff of the chloroform he’d used on her as he pulled her legs out. As he’d been driving he’d imagined how he was gonna do it. He reckoned that if he flopped her over the edge of the boot, so that her arse was just there waiting for him, then he could pull her jeans off, and hey-ho off we go, which is exactly what he did.
God she had a great arse, and she shaved her pussy as well. ‘You are one sexy bitch, baby.’ Underneath her jeans she wore a pair of red silk French cami knickers. Instead of taking them off, he pulled them to one side as he slid inside her.
She moaned.
‘Yeah baby, you moan all you want. Just us two to hear it.’ He laughed, but it was a strained laugh because she had a pussy as tight as a vice, and he needed all his willpower to stop himself from...
‘Christ baby, that was the best. I think I might be in love, and let me tell you, Elliot Towler don’t fall in love easily.’
He knew he was gonna do her again. What he’d had wasn’t enough – not nearly enough. What he wanted was something more to keep him warm on lonely nights. He only had to wait a handful of minutes before he was hard again. The time hadn’t been wasted though, because he’d stripped her naked.
She was turning blue from the cold, but he’d soon warm her up. This bitch was hot. She had an hourglass figure and tits as hard as rock cakes.
He entered her again. ‘God baby, you are so good to Elliot.’ He grabbed her breasts and squeezed the nipples. ‘This is what they calls a romantic interlude, baby. Two horny lovers pull off into the woods and get it on.’
‘Oh Jesus baby, I just came again. You’re gonna suck Elliot bone dry before we’re done. All right, just one more time if you need to. I can see you got the hots for Elliot. But you gotta be patient while I pump it up.’
She moaned again.
He sat on the bumper while he waited for his erection to return. ‘Yeah, I know you’re in a hurry, and it won’t be long, baby. I can feel it growing. Now listen, you can’t go telling anybody what we been doing here because they wouldn’t understand. It’ll be just between the two of us. And after they’re done with you – if they let you live, that is – you and me gonna get it on again. I’ll wait for you, and then we’ll have the best time in the whole world.’
***
Two names had materialised from the public request for information, and they were on their way to the first address in Redbridge. After a cohort of officers from Operations had fielded the telephone calls from the public, under the expert guidance of Maureen Threadneedle, two names had made it through all the checks the officers carried out before the leads came out the other end and were passed on to the detectives.
‘But what about Catherine?’ Richards had said before they set off.
‘You’ve got a whole bucketful of suggestions then?’
‘Well, we could...’
‘Yes?’
‘What about sniffer dogs?’
‘What about them?’
‘They could track her.’
‘You think she’s on foot in this weather?’
‘Helicopter?’
‘They don’t fly in weather like this. We can’t see anything down here. Can you imagine what it’d be like up there?’
‘Satellite?’
‘What do you know about satellites?’
‘We’ve got one, haven’t we?’
‘When you say “we”, you’re talking about the British government?’
‘Yes.’
‘I have no idea. Maybe we have to ask the Americans for a loan of theirs.’
‘We could, couldn’t we?’
‘Look, Richards. You know as well as I do that there’s nothing we can do. Catherine’s on her own. I explained the risks, didn’t I?’
‘I suppose.’
‘I made it quite clear in that interview room at the station that she could die, didn’t I?’
‘She’s my friend.’
He put his hand on hers even though she was driving. ‘I know she is. She’s my friend as well, but apart from knocking on the Lord Chief Justice’s office door and demanding he give her back, there’s absolutely nothing we can do. Not only that, we’re assuming P2 have her, but they may not.’
‘What do you mean?’
‘Maybe she decided she’s had enough and gone on holiday, maybe someone else took her.’
She gave him a sideways glance. ‘You’re making things up now – you know as well as I do that P2 have her. We could ring that Lord up and tell him we know he has her and he should give her back.’
‘Stop talking, Richards.’
He still had a serial killer to find and a baby on the way. God help her, but Catherine was on her own.
Redbridge was a bit far out, but they had to check everything until they knew what was going on. At the moment they had two headless women in their early twenties without hands and feet, or any identifying marks. The only thing they knew was that the victims had both recently given birth. They had no motive, no real evidence about who the victims were, no suspects, no idea where the victims were killed...
They arrived outside 21 Onslow Gardens in South Woodford, which overlooked Roding Valley Park and the spaghetti junction of the North Circular as it joined the M11 and the A1400 to Southend. The second ice age was still taking shape, but Parish thought that they still had a bit of time before everything became petrified.
The door
opened. Mrs Andrea Stone was a woman in her early seventies with light brown hair she’d recently had permed at the hairdressers, a thin wrinkled face, and a pink sweater with a floppy roll-neck collar and a pearl necklace.
‘You’re here about Nikki?’
Parish held out his warrant card. ‘Yes, I believe your daughter is missing?’
‘Six weeks ago, after she gave birth to Wayne Rooney.’
‘I’m sorry?’
‘You better come in before someone sees you.’
‘Oh?’
‘Police aren’t welcome round here.’
‘Or anywhere, if the truth be told,’ Parish joked.
‘Yes.’ Mrs Stone didn’t smile. ‘My son-in-law insisted on calling the boy after his footballing hero, hence – Wayne Rooney Roley. Man’s an idiot, but he said if it was good enough for him – his parents called him Arnold Terminator – it was good enough for his son. Why Nikki ever got involved with a moron is beyond me. Mind you, my daughter was hiding in the cupboard when God was giving out intelligence. Not very bright at all, I’m afraid. Sit down,’ she said pointing to a bright orange sofa. ‘’I suppose you want hot drinks?’
‘No, we’re fine thanks.’
‘Good. I’m fed up of mixing milk for that brat.’
‘You’ve got the child here?’
‘Terminator isn’t going to look after him on his own, is he?’
‘Why not?’
‘He’s been in trouble with the police lots of times. I thought you’d be best buddies, or something.’
‘No, sorry. We’re murder detectives.’
‘Murder...? I don’t understand.’
‘You rang Hoddesdon Police Station to report your daughter missing in response to a request for help in identifying the body of a woman that has been found.’
‘No, I just rang to report Nikki missing. Nobody said anything about murder... or a body.’
‘Has your daughter got any identifying marks on her body?’
‘A tattoo of a dragon on her shoulder – you know, like The Girl with the Dragon Tattoo – she loves that film.’
‘Can you...’
‘And a smaller one like a flower round her belly button, and a snake spiralling up her leg with the head going in... Well, you’d know where it was going if you saw it – the front not the back.’
‘We’ve not found your daughter, Mrs Stone.’
‘Thank the Lord.’
They stood up to leave.
‘You’ll keep looking?’
‘Of course we will.’
***
Once he’d left Annie’s house he didn’t loiter. Churchfields in Broxbourne wasn’t the type of place you took time out to contemplate the nature of the universe and whistle Dixie. Well, not if you wanted to keep your wallet and the wheels on your car.
He drove through the estate to the B194 and pulled into a lay by. Traffic was crawling along. What was he going to do now? All he had was Jeremy Kincaid and the flowers. Until he found Kincaid he’d be like a possum up a gum tree
While he phoned Toadstone, he left the engine running and the heater on setting number two to keep his feet warm and the windscreen from misting up.
‘Doctor Paul Toadstone, Chief Scientific Officer?’
‘Why do you do that, Toady?’
‘To try and stop you calling me Toady.’
‘It’s not working.’
‘I know. I might have to make a formal complaint.’
‘What the hell has got into you?’
‘I’m being more forceful.’
‘Well, you need to differentiate between being forceful and being a prick.’
‘Is that what you rang to tell me?’
‘No. I’ve been to Jeremy Kincaid’s home address. There’s no one home. Where’s the brewery he works at located?’
‘Devon.’
‘That’s no bloody good. Give me their number.’
He repeated what Toadstone said, and wrote the number down in his notebook. ‘I know it’s not your job, but can you key his name into CrimInt?’
‘You’re right, it’s not my job – have a nice day, Inspector Kowalski.’
‘Toady?’
What the hell was going on with Toady? He’d never had so much trouble with the guy. Usually, he was as nice as grandma’s apple pie, meek as a lamb, butter wouldn’t melt, and so on. It was as if he’d had a personality transplant.
He rang Maureen Threadneedle in Operations.
‘Yes?’
‘It’s Ray Kowalski?’
‘What do you want?’
‘Is that any way to talk to a colleague?’
‘Well?’
‘I need...’
‘No.’
The line went dead.
He leaned back and closed his eyes. Today was turning into a real struggle. The job was bad enough without having to cope with colleagues who were determined to ruin your day. It was bad enough without the shit weather – snow was the best thing if you were inside looking out with a log fire behind you roasting your nuts, or if you were in the garden building a snowman with your kids. But if you were trying to catch a killer, it was the worst thing ever. He should have a partner, someone to chew the fat with, someone to share the load, someone to... Well, just to be there for him really... at the bottom of the brick wall... looking up and wondering.
He’d try one more phone call. If that didn’t work he’d call it a day, go home to the warmth of his family, and maybe do something crazy – like have a barbecue, or swim in the paddling pool.
‘Sergeant Jackson.’
‘Kristina... I need a shoulder to cry on.’
‘You men are all the same... Something soft and warm and you cry like babies. I wouldn’t be surprised if you still went to bed with a teddy bear.’
‘I hear you looked good in that Goldilocks outfit at the summer do.’
‘Keep dreaming Kowalski. Have you rung just to whisper sweet nothings in my ear?’
‘You know I need something?’
‘And it depends what you’re going to give me in return.’
‘Name your price?’
‘Mmmm, an open cheque. I’ll give that some thought seeing as it’s the festive season. Go on then, tell me what’s troubling you?’
‘Can you input Jeremy Kincaid into CrimInt.’
He heard click clacking.
‘I have three.’
‘Churchfields Lane.’
‘Okay. One speeding ticket eighteen months ago.’
‘Wife?’
‘Karen Kincaid, next of kin, no offences.’
‘Is that it?’
‘Wait, there’s something here about bodies under the patio...’
‘Very funny. Any other address?’
‘No.’
‘What vehicle does he drive?’
‘Range Rover, EO11 NJW.’
‘Can you put an alert out for it?’
‘Okay.’
‘What telephone numbers have you got for them?’
‘Home and work for him.’
‘No, I’ve got both of those. What about the wife?’
‘Home and mobile.’
‘Give me the mobile, please?’
‘A please! You must be extra desperate.’
‘I am. I’ve run out of leads.’
‘07895 354987.’
‘Thanks, Kristina.’
‘I’ve thought what I want.’
‘Go on?’
‘I’ve been looking for someone to play Santa on the Children’s Ward at St Margaret’s Hospital on Christmas Day.’
‘Ho, ho, ho.’
‘I love you, Kowalski.’
‘Like so many others, Kristina.’
He ended the call and phoned Karen Kincaid’s number.
‘Hello?’ a female voice said.
‘Mrs Kincaid?’
‘Sorry mate, wrong number.’
The line went dead.
He sighed. Crap! And double crap! He just remembered
that he couldn’t go home. He had to meet the Chief, Parish and Richards at Dirty Nellie’s at six o’clock. The dashboard clock displayed quarter to five as he set off towards Hoddesdon.
Well, that was it. He had no clues, no leads, and no suspects – or at least the suspect he did have he couldn’t find. He’d have to review where he was tomorrow morning. He was still waiting for the phone records from The Snooty Pig, he could check the use of Kincaid’s credit card, and he might get lucky on the Range Rover. After that, he was on a slippery slope to nowhere.
***
Consciousness gradually returned. She’d been somewhere warm, but now she was cold. What was happening? She could smell petrol and grease. Why did she hurt down there? Why was she so cold?
She remembered driving to meet Jed – the love of her life, but something happened on the way. What had happened? Then the memories flooded back. Oh God, where was she? What was he doing to her? But she knew what he’d done, because she could feel his filth inside her and slithering down the inside of her thighs.
She heard his voice on her right. She couldn’t make out what he was saying, but she didn’t hear anyone answering him.
Moving her head slowly she saw something that looked like a car jack. Grasping it in her right hand she knew there was no time to think about what she was going to do – she just did it. She turned at the waist, and swung the jack round with all the power that she could muster in her two arms. There was a comforting crack as the metal caved the back of his skull in. He fell forward into the snow with his trousers round his ankles, and his dick bent double.
She ran then. Off into the woods to her left. Ran as hard as she could to get away from him. Her head was swimming, and her breathing came hard. After the fastest hundred yards she had ever run, she stopped.
What the hell was she doing? Where was she going? She would die in the woods if she kept running. She looked down at herself and laughed – on her feet was a pair of old blue socks and her brown flat shoes – other than that she was naked. After she stopped laughing, she squatted down, put her head in hands and cried.
But she didn’t cry for long. She reached down and took a handful of snow and rubbed it on her vagina – again – and again – and again – until the snow turned red.