by Ellis, Tim
Erin shrugged, and his eyes were drawn to those perfect breasts again. ‘It’s up to you. I’m not asking you to leave your wife, just have a bit of fun on the side.’ She stroked his arm. ‘I’m sure you can imagine how much fun you’d have.’
He stuffed the paper in his pocket. He’d throw it away later, out of harm’s way. He was tempted. Which fool wouldn’t be? But he’d be a bigger fool if he accepted her offer. ‘Don’t think I’m not tempted, I am. But as I said, I’m happily married.’ He rolled up the map, and collected together the phone records. ‘Again, thanks for your help, Erin. Very nice meeting you.’
She smiled and turned back to her computer.
He felt hot. Some idiot must have cranked up the heating in the station.
***
‘Look around,’ Parish said. ‘Make sure you’ve got gloves on.’
‘I think I know that by now.’
‘If I didn’t say it, and then you didn’t put any on, it’d be my fault.’
‘Of course it would, but I still know to put gloves on.’
He took out his notebook and began to write. ‘One – argues for the sake of it. Two – know-it-all. Three...’
‘You’re not really writing anything.’
‘I am too.’
‘Let me look.’
‘Need to know.’
‘I know you haven’t written anything. I don’t need to look.’
‘But you’ll never really know, will you? It’ll be eating away at your insides...’
‘One day I will. I’ll look in your notebook when you least expect it.’
‘I might get a lock for it, and that lock will be wired up to an alarm...’
She laughed. ‘You’re crazy.’
‘Are you looking?’
‘Give me a chance.’
‘You look in the bedroom and the bathroom. It doesn’t need two of us to look in here.’
‘Okay. I’m going.’
Richards found a photograph in the bedroom of Kasia Plaziuk holding Ivan. She had shoulder-length blonde hair, a pert nose, and a small mouth – she was a beautiful woman. But was she the second victim?
‘Didn’t you find anything?’
Parish produced an enigmatic smile. ‘I found lots of things.’
‘Give me an example?’
‘I found no food in the kitchen cupboards, and there was only some rotting chicken in the fridge.’
‘Okay.’
‘I also found no baby milk.’
‘She might have been breastfeeding.’
‘Did you find any baby clothes?’
She looked sheepish. ‘Just a minute,’ she said, and returned to the bedroom.
After a while she came back to the living room. ‘No, no baby clothes. How strange.’
‘What do you think could explain the absence of baby clothes?’
‘I knew you were going to ask me that.’
‘So, you have an answer prepared?’
‘Somebody has taken the baby and all its things.’
‘That could be one explanation. Are there any more?’
‘Well, if she’s dead then somebody has the baby.’
‘What if she’s not dead?’
‘But... Ah! She might not be the second victim.’
‘Where is she then?’
‘She could have gone somewhere else, maybe back to the Ukraine. That Sally Enright said Kasia was scared someone might take her baby. Maybe she got involved with the wrong people. She could have run away, and taken the baby with her.’
‘So what do we need to do?’
‘Check the airports and ferry terminals to see if she’s returned to the Ukraine.’
‘We could do that, but it might not work if she was an illegal. If Doc Riley can tell us what was on that piece of skin it may be unnecessary anyway.’
‘Of course. God, I love this job.’
‘Stop saying that. You’re beginning to sound like one of those ghouls who listen to the police channels, and turn up at every murder hoping to get a glimpse of a corpse.’
‘I’m not like that.’
‘You’ll never get a man.’
‘Well, that’s where you’re wrong. I’ve got a date tonight.’
‘Uh oh!’
‘Don’t say uh oh.’
‘Give me the details?’
‘I don’t think...’
A grey-haired man in a suit with a double chin appeared in the doorway. ‘What are you doing in my flat?’
‘Your daughter has obviously contacted you and told you that we’re police. We are treating this flat as a possible crime scene, so could you please leave?’
‘It’s my flat. I own it. If anyone’s leaving it’s you two.’
Parish took out his handcuffs. ‘Please turn around, Mr Vojticek.’
‘What are you talking about?’
‘I’m arresting you for obstructing a police officer in the pursuance of his duty, and although it doesn’t strictly fall within my remit, for renting out a flat to an illegal immigrant.’
‘You can’t...’
‘I’ve already had this conversation with your daughter, Sir.’
‘If you damage anything, I’ll sue.’
‘I’m sure you will. Now, please leave before I do arrest you.’
‘You haven’t heard the last of this,’ he said as he left the flat and started down the stairs.
Toadstone arrived with a retinue of white-suited forensic officers. ‘Been upsetting the locals again, Sir?’
‘We all go a little mad sometimes.’
Toadstone smiled. ‘Norman Bates, played by Anthony Perkins in Psycho, 1960.’
‘Isn’t he just brilliant?’ Richards said clapping her gloved hands together.
‘Your cheerleader is here this time.’ He turned to Richards. ‘Go and get the car warmed up. I’ll be driving.’
‘Aren’t you coming?’
‘In a minute.’
‘Oh, all right.’
Once she’d gone, and Toadstone’s people were busy taking photographs, samples, and fingerprints, he took Toadstone’s elbow and led him just outside the door.
‘Remember I said you had to become more forceful?’
‘Yes.’
‘Forget it.’
‘Diane has made a complaint, hasn’t she?’
‘Nobody’s made any complaints, but observations have been voiced. You pretending to be forceful is not very good. You’re not going to win any prizes at Cannes.’
‘It was your idea.’
‘Yes, I know. And I don’t mind admitting when I’m wrong. Go back to the Toadstone we all know and love.’
‘But what about Mary?’
‘Forget Richards, she’s moving on. You’re a friend, and I think that’s all you’ll ever be to her.’
‘I can keep trying though?’
‘Of course you can, but be prepared for continual disappointment.’
‘And you don’t want me to be forceful?’
‘No. People liked you before. Now, nobody likes you.’
‘Oh!’
Outside, the car’s engine was running, and Richards had already shifted into the passenger seat.
‘Why did you get rid of me?’
‘So you couldn’t hear what I was saying.’
‘And what was that?’
‘You’ve not been paying attention, have you?’
He pulled out of Back Road in Buckhurst Hill and headed towards the A406 and King George Hospital.
***
Lola as his partner wouldn’t be so bad. She wouldn’t give him a hard time like Nash had. Yeah, people would make fun of him, but he could put up with that. And she hadn’t come to him empty-handed either – she’d come bearing gifts. It wasn’t often he got serial killers. They usually fell into Parish’s lap. Not that he minded. He enjoyed what he was doing whether he was investigating one or fifty murders. Now, he had a partner. Someone who was happy to get her hands dirty. Someone to bounce ideas off. Yeah, it coul
d work. He’d give it a go at least. He should never have selected Nash. She was just a distraction, and it wasn’t as if he would ever have got her into bed. The whole idea of that was in his head – a head that still thought its body could perform like a twenty-year-old.
He pulled the piece of paper, with Erin Donnelly’s telephone number on it out of his pocket, screwed it up, and threw it in the bin outside the lifts as he passed. Nothing more than a pipe dream of an addled opium smoker – he was far too old for pipe dreams. God, but she had gorgeous breasts though.
‘You been gone for ages, Ko-wall-ski.’
‘But it was time well spent. Did you find out whether those other three women were on his contact list?’
‘They sure is, and he seen each one on the day they was murdered. Now, if that ain’t somethin’ I don’t know what is.’
‘Come along to the incident room.’
‘You want some more of Lola’s special coffee?’
‘No thanks.’ He’d decided that if he wanted to continue living he was never going to drink Lola’s special coffee again. Not only had his tongue swollen up and gone numb, but his heart had started racing as if he’d been playing rugby again. ‘I don’t know what you put in it, but you should remember I’m on drugs because of my heart.’
He set off along the corridor with Lola waddling after him.
‘Oh yeah, I heard about your vagina.’
‘I have to carry this spray around with me.’ He pulled a small bottle out of his pocket with pink liquid in it. ‘If I start to feel ill, I have to spray this twice under my tongue to get the old ticker pumping right again.'
‘Lola’s trained in regeneration.’
‘I feel safer already.’
They reached the incident room. He spread the map, telephone and credit card records out on the table, and explained what he and Erin had been doing.
‘You found the same as old Lola.’
‘So it would seem.’
‘Now if that ain’t triangular evidence I don’t know what is.’
He went to the whiteboard and started making notes as he spoke. ‘We have one suspect – Jeremy Kincaid.’ He pointed to Kincaid’s photograph. ‘He’s thirty-three, pretty good looking in a rough sort of way, and works for Carn Galver Brewery in Honiton, Devon. He lives at 31 Churchfields Lane in Broxbourne, and is married to Karen Kincaid née Weston who has recently had a miscarriage after six months of being pregnant.’
‘Lola’s always sad when a baby dies.’
‘Yes. Anyway, I also can’t find her either. I thought I had her mobile number, but she hasn’t got that phone anymore apparently. There’s no answer on Jeremy’s phone, and it’s either switched off, or he’s got rid of it, because I can’t locate it.’
‘You thinking they disappeared?’
‘I’m wondering if he has. I’m not sure about her because of the credit card expenditure. Why would she go with him? Although she was seen putting bags into a car on Tuesday night.’
‘Maybe we ought to give their photographs to the press?’
He ran his hand over his stubble. ‘Maybe his photograph. If we find him, and they’re together, we’ll find her.’
‘You limiting your options. If they together, then he stays hidden, but she can go out. If’n they ain’t together, then she might know where he be holed up.’
‘Let’s leave her out of it for the time being. I want people to focus on him. Also, remember she’s just lost a baby.’
‘Okay, you the boss. So, if they disappeared, where they gone then?’
‘Well, that’s the burning question, isn’t it?’
‘That being why I asked it. Are there any parents or grandparents that they could have gone to?’
He wrote it down and put a question mark against it. ‘Something we need to check. I ran Kincaid’s name through CrimInt yesterday and there was no other address listed for him.’
‘And her?’
‘She was listed as his wife and next of kin only. She didn’t have her own entry.’
‘Any friends?’
‘None that I’ve been able to find. I spoke to the neighbours, but apart from a woman across the road, they weren’t very helpful.’
‘Maybe we need to look inside their house?’
‘Okay, let’s get a warrant. We’ll go there this afternoon.’
They stared at the board. ‘You got anything else, Lola?’
‘Nope. Lola all tuckered out.’
‘I’ll go and see Jenny Weber – the Press Officer – and get Jeremy Kincaid’s photograph distributed. You check on whether they have parents and/or grandparents, and get a warrant to search their house.’
‘Lola gonna eat her lunch while she’s doing all that. I done made some tchaka stew with hominy, beans, pumpkin, and pork – you want some?’
‘Sounds great, but I have to watch what I eat.’
‘Lola don’t have that problem.’
Well, that went well, he thought as he walked to Jenny Weber’s office. Starting out with a new partner was usually fraught with difficulties. Trying to get a handle on each other’s thinking, their way of working, the jokes, who led and who followed. Yes, he hated learning to work with someone new. He’d become a bloody fossil, set in his ways. But Lola had been okay. She hadn’t left it all to him, she’d contributed and bounced ideas around. Pointed out where he could have gone wrong, but accepted his decision once he’d explained why he was doing it. Maybe he could work with her after all.
Chapter Fourteen
‘Get your competency booklet out again.’
She pretended to look for it. ‘I don’t seem to have it with me today.’
‘You’re the worst liar in the world, Richards.’
‘Well, that’s a competency isn’t it?’
‘I know you’ve hidden it at the back of the glove compartment.’
‘Hidden it! No, I simply put it in there and forgot about it. You make it sound as though it was premeditated.’
‘I know exactly why you did it. Well?’
‘Do we have to?’
‘No, you could go back to walking the streets in Cheshunt.’
‘As if.’
‘Where are we up to?’
She pulled the booklet out of the glove compartment and opened it up at a dog-eared page. ‘Number five: Carry out physical searches to obtain evidence.’
‘I think we’ve done enough of that for you to be deemed competent.'
‘I haven’t searched people.’
‘But you know how to do it?’
‘Yes.’
‘We’ll see if we can’t find some people for you to search.’
‘We’re not talking about strip searching, are we?’
‘Why? Do you want to do strip searches?’
‘Not particularly.’
‘What’s next?’
‘Number six: Plan and co-ordinate investigations.’
‘That’s something you need to work on. Maybe on the next case I’ll let you lead.’
‘Me?’
‘There’s no one else in the car is there?’
‘Oh God, I’m panicking already.’
‘Don’t worry, I won’t let you fall.’
‘I know. I don’t know what I’d do without you.’
‘You’d survive – like we all do.’
‘Maybe survival isn’t enough.’
‘Survival is always enough. What’s next?’
‘Number seven: Investigate sources of information and develop intelligence for investigations.’
‘Mmmm, I think you could do with a bit more of that. I hope you’re making a note of what you need more of, and I’m not just blowing smoke out of my...’
‘Sir?’
‘...Exhaust.’
‘I know what you were going to say.’
‘So, are you writing my words of wisdom down?’
‘Of course.’
‘What’s next then? Do we have to go so slow?’
‘Number eight:
Handle evidence arising from investigations.’
‘Okay, no problems with that one. Have we nearly finished yet?’
‘You’re the tutor, don’t you know?’
‘Of course I know.’
‘Go on then?’
‘I’ve temporarily forgotten.’
‘How many do you think there are?’
‘Twenty?’
‘Have you ever looked at this booklet?’
‘We’re not here to test me. Next one?’
‘Number nine: Manage surveillance operations.’
‘You still need to do that. Next.’
Number ten: Take part in surveillance operations. You’re not going to...?’
‘Yeah... You weren’t very good in the graveyard, were you?’
‘There were extenuating circumstances.’
‘I hope you’re not going to mention those vampire rats you made up?’
‘I didn’t make them up. I was lucky to get out of that crypt with all my blood.’
‘Write in your little notebook, “I need to admit when I’m wrong”.’
‘You need to admit when you’re wrong. Those vampire rats were crawling all over that crypt.’
Parish sighed. ‘Anyway, you need to take part in more surveillance ops.’
‘Do I have to?’
‘No, you could go back to Cheshunt and work in lost property.’
She laughed. ‘They haven’t got a lost property.’
‘Well, maybe they’ll create one just for you. What’s next?’
‘Number eleven: Trace people.’
‘I think we’ve done enough of that. Next?’
‘Number twelve: Enter and integrate data, and present information using a computer system.’
‘You’ve done that a number of times. Next?’
‘Number thirteen: Maintain understanding of legislation, regulation and codes of practice relevant to investigation.’
‘Are you doing that?’
‘Yes?’
‘Next?’
‘That’s it, apart from a unit called: Presenting evidence at court and other hearings.’
‘We’ll have to catch someone alive, then you’d get your chance.’
‘I don’t think I want to stand in a courtroom and give evidence. I’ve seen what those barristers do to police officers.’
‘You can’t pick and choose which competencies you complete, you know? What’s your evidence folder like?’