by Ellis, Tim
‘Three years! Oh God.’
‘...She was exceptional. Unfortunately...’
‘Exceptional! Do you think I’m exceptional?’
‘In many ways.’
She squealed. ‘Oh God... I trod on something... I mean an exceptional detective for me to make DS in less than three years?’
‘Less than three years! Exceptional detectives don’t moan at their partners for suggesting they recover a body from a sewer.’
‘I knew you were going to say that. You’re making all this up. I bet nobody has made DS in three years from passing their NIE. You just want me to make a fool of myself. I bet they’re all laughing at me in the forensic truck.’
‘Toadstone wouldn’t allow that.’
‘No, I suppose not.’
Like the other two bodies the head, hands, and feet were missing. And when they reached the corpse rats were feasting on the open wounds.
‘Oh God! You didn’t tell me there would be rats down here.’
‘This is a sewer. There are always rats in sewers. Haven’t you seen Indiana Jones and the Last Crusade?’
‘I don’t know what you’re talking about.’
‘Indie and Dr Elsa Schneider are in the Venetian catacombs, which is a lot like this sewer – we’ve even got a dead body down here as well. Anyway, there are thousands of rats in there with them.’
‘You think you’re Harrison Ford, don’t you?’
‘I have noticed a slight resemblance when I’m shaving in the mornings. From a certain angle, and with the light bouncing off the tiles.’ He gave her a profile and thrust his chin up. ‘What do you think?’
‘I think you look more like Quasimodo.’
‘Thanks.’
‘You’re welcome.’
‘Well, you don’t look much like Alison Doody either.’
‘I’m glad.’
It took them over an hour to recover the third body. Throughout, Richards complained and moaned as if she were practising for the Olympics. When they were back above ground Parish had Toadstone shine the blacklight on the inside of the corpse’s left arm. Like the others, there was a stamp with TC in a circle.
‘That’s where we’re off to next,’ he said.
‘Not today?’
‘Yes.’
‘No. I smell like a sewer. I have to go home and bath. I don’t want people holding their noses while they talk to me. And I’ve got to go...’
He checked his watch. It was twenty past four. ‘I suppose we could call it a day. We’ll go there first thing in the morning before going to the station. I still need to brief the Chief before we go home.’
‘Do you have to?’
‘Yes. And you can take the pool car back while I do, that’ll save us some time.’
‘You’re just trying to humiliate me, aren’t you?’
***
She was sitting in the Range Rover waiting. There weren’t many cars in the car park at King George Hospital because of the awful weather. Well, everyone else might think it was awful, but it was just perfect for what she needed to do.
It wouldn’t be long now.
She’d prepared the cellar at the house as best she could. It was cold and damp, and there wasn’t much light, but it would do. At the most she’d only need it for two days. It was going to be the best Christmas ever. This Christmas her wish would come true – she’d have her very own baby.
Then she saw the midwife exit the automatic doors at the reception.
She waited – another piece of the puzzle. It was all fitting together just perfectly. In fact, everything was perfect. And tomorrow, when she took Angela Parish, it would be beyond perfect – it would be sublime.
Stepping out of the Range Rover she pulled the hood of the parka up, and then put her hand in the pocket to grip the syringe.
‘Excuse me, Staff Nurse Hollingsworth,’ she said as the midwife reached her car.
The nurse turned her head and squinted through the swirling snow at the woman. ‘Is that you Mrs...?’
She didn’t have time to finish. Karen Kincaid rammed a large-bore needle in Marveen Hollingsworth’s neck, and then pushed the plunger of the syringe as far down as it would go. One hundred and fifty milligrams of Temazepam was three times the usual dosage, which took the midwife to the edge of death almost instantly – but it wouldn’t kill her. Oh no, Staff Nurse Hollingsworth had one more baby to deliver before death came a knocking.
‘Yes, it’s me bitch.’
It was her fault she’d lost the baby again. Well, she was going to help her take someone else’s, and that someone else was Angela Parish.
She dragged the midwife to the back of the Range Rover, opened the door, and bundled the dead weight into the space behind the rear seats. Next, she returned to the midwife’s car and picked up the black medical bag.
It was nearly dark when she arrived back at the cottage. Using an old blanket she dragged the unconscious woman into the house, along the hallway, and down the cellar steps. There, she moved her close to the wall where she’d looped a thick chain through an iron ring, and bolted the manacles at the end of the chain around her ankles.
Now, there was just one more piece, and the puzzle would be complete. Then she and her new baby would disappear forever.
Chapter Sixteen
Thorpe Coombe mental hospital was located on Forest Road in Waltham Forest. It was only a small hospital, and mainly housed the local community mental health team. It started life as a 70-bed maternity hospital in 1934, which had used part of the mansion previously owned by Octavius Wigram – Governor of the Royal Exchange Assurance Corporation. In 1973 it became a nurses’ home, and then a treatment centre for patients with Alzheimer’s disease. Now, as well as the Larkswood Centre for psychiatric outpatients, it also offered two wards for the treatment of patients with mental health problems.
‘Lola don’t like crazy people.’
Kowalski parked in the small car park. ‘Nobody likes crazy people.’
They walked carefully along the path to the wood-panelled double doors at the main entrance and knocked.
After a handful of minutes, they were about to try something else to gain attention, when the left-hand door opened. It was accompanied by an awful creaking sound as if they’d stumbled onto a Hammer Horror film set by mistake.
A stooped, unshaven man wearing a beret over grey hair said, ‘Sorry about that. I keep meaning to oil it, but as soon as I come away from the door I forget it needs oiling.’
Kowalski wondered whether the man was a member of staff, or a patient. He produced his warrant card. ‘Detective Inspector Kowalski and Constable Laveque. We’d like to talk to someone about Trudi Headford.’
He shook his head. ‘A tragic case. You’d better come in then.’
They stepped through the door into a spacious deserted lobby.
‘And you are?’
‘Oh yes, sorry. My memory is getting worse. I’m Dr Paterson, but everyone calls me Ronnie. You can’t be too formal with patients these days. In the past it was different, but now you have to get down in the trenches with them.’
‘Trudi Headford?’ Kowalski reminded him.
‘Yes, come this way.’
He led them along a corridor. Popped his head through a door on the left and said, ‘Refreshments for three please, Rebecca.’ Then carried on to an office with his name on the door.
‘Trudi came to us in... I take it you do have a warrant?’
Kowalski pulled out the warrant to search the Kincaid house and waved it about. ‘Yes, we’ve got a warrant.’ Then he slipped it back in his inside pocket.
‘Good. Trudi came to us seven years ago after having smothered her two children. They thought it was post-natal depression, but it was much more than that. Once we looked into her family history we found that the post-natal depression was masking schizophrenia, which had been a significant factor in the family for four generations.’
‘You’re saying she was a schizophrenic?’
‘Yes. Unfortunately, it went undiagnosed until she had killed her babies... tragic.’
A teenager came in with a tray of refreshments.
‘Ah, excellent. Thank you Rebecca.’ He made a space on the coffee table, so that she could put the tray down. While Rebecca poured each of them a drink he said, ‘Rebecca Silver is a direct descendant of Long John Silver, you know. Our very own pirate. She even has a black spot on the palm of her left hand. Show them, Rebecca.’
Rebecca blushed. ‘Stop telling fibs, Doctor. I don’t even know who Long John Silver was.’
He laughed as she left the room. ‘I like to tease the girls. You can imagine that this place isn’t much fun otherwise.’
‘You were saying, Doctor?’ Kowalski verbally prodded him again.
‘Was I? Oh yes... Trudi.’ He took a sip of his tea. ‘Her doctor diagnosed post-natal depression, which certainly shares some of the symptoms of schizophrenia. Unfortunately, the birth of the twins triggered the onset of the disease... tragic.’
‘What about Trudi’s sister – Karen?’ Lola asked.
‘Twin,’ Dr Paterson said. ‘Do you know that if a grandparent has schizophrenia you have a three percent chance of getting the disease. If one parent is affected that increases to ten-percent, and if both parents have schizophrenia, the chance of you getting it increases to forty-percent. Unfortunately, Trudi and Karen were statistically doomed. As I said earlier, four generations have been diagnosed with schizophrenia, and as it turned out both of the girls’ parents had the disease as well. So, when we’re talking about the statistical probability of the two girls getting the disease – it was over sixty percent.’
‘Karen is Trudi’s twin?’ Lola said.
‘Yes, didn’t you know?’
‘No,’ Kowalski said. ‘It was only this afternoon we found out that Karen had a sister. We went to see their mother in Mount Pleasant Care Home.’
‘A mild case, controlled with drugs. Has dementia now, I believe?’
‘So we were told. What do you know about Karen?’
‘She’s an outpatient at the Larksfield Centre.’
‘But if she’s got the disease...?’
‘No... You have to understand that it’s not a foregone conclusion a child will get the disease. We still don’t know the cause. We think there is a genetic component, but there are also a number of other predisposing factors. We’ve been monitoring Karen since Trudi came to us, and she has never shown any of the signs or symptoms of the disease.’
‘You know she recently lost her baby?’
‘It’s her third miscarriage. Admittedly, the other two were early on in the pregnancy, whereas this one was after six months. We’ve seen her at the clinic since she lost the baby, and she has come to terms with the loss.’
‘So, Karen hasn’t got schizophrenia?’
‘No.’
‘Okay. What we really came for was Mr Headford’s address.’
‘Then you’ve had a wasted journey, Inspector. Patrick Headford lives in Canada, and has done for the past five years since he divorced Trudi.’
Kowalski stood up and offered his hand. ‘Thanks very much for your help, Doctor.’
‘What Trudi die of?’ Lola asked.
‘It was while Karen was visiting her sister. Trudi had a massive stroke. She was in a coma for five days, but never regained consciousness before she died.
Once they were back in the car Lola said, ‘Lola was beginning to think that Karen Kincaid might be the killer.’
‘Yes, me as well.’
‘If’n she ain’t a psychogenic then she can’t be our killer.’
‘You don’t have to be crazy to kill.’
She trumpeted like an elephant. ‘But it helps.’
***
‘You need to tell the press what’s going on,’ Chief Kirby said.
‘Yes, I suppose so. Except... well, I don’t really know what’s going on. We’ve recovered three bodies without heads, hands, and feet from the sewers. We have no idea about the identity of the victims, and we have no suspects. What we do know is that all three women recently gave birth, but we don’t know anything about the babies. Today we’ve discovered that each of the victims had a fluorescent stamp on the inside of their left arms from the Toxic Club in Harlow, and that’s where we’re going first thing in the morning.
‘Ask Jenny Weber to arrange a press briefing after you’ve been there. Tell the press what you know.’
‘That should take all of five seconds. We’re going to look stupid. After nearly a week, we’re still clueless.’
‘If you keep them in the dark, they’ll think we’re hiding something. They could help?’
‘I asked them for help after the first body. We received a couple of leads that led nowhere, and not much else.’
‘Because of the babies, the public are crying out for information.'
‘Which I don’t have.’
‘You need to tell them that. If you don’t find the babies, there’ll be a public outcry, and you may as well wave goodbye to any career prospects.’
‘Don’t you think I know that? I’m disappointed that we haven’t had any calls about abandoned babies, or mothers disappearing. The killer is specifically targeting women who have recently given birth, and he removes anything that will help us identify who the victims are. We haven’t even worked out what his motive is yet. Either it’s about the women, but then why haven’t we found the babies; or, it’s about the babies, but why kill and dispose of all three women in exactly the same way?’
‘And you’ve not found the rest of the body parts?’
‘Not a thing. We’ve discovered that the second victim had a butterfly tattoo on her left shoulder. The killer sliced off the skin, but Doc Riley was able to identify the outline of a butterfly.’
‘You do know something after all then?’
‘The press could certainly help us with that, and maybe we’ll know a bit more after we’ve been to the Toxic Club.’
‘Let’s focus on the babies for a minute. What are the possibilities?’
‘He might be killing and disposing of them because they’re evidence that could lead to the victims being identified, and then subsequently to him. He could be keeping them, but where and why is anybody’s guess. He could be giving them away, or selling them on. There are many childless couples out there who would enter into an illegal agreement with the killer. If the means of acquiring the babies ever came to light they would say nothing.’
‘I don’t like to say this, but you’re running out of time. I’ve had the Chief Constable on the phone. He’s concerned at the lack of progress.’
‘How long have I got before I’m in charge of the lost property?’
‘I would say the middle of next week. The Chief Constable related it to a football match. How long would you keep a striker on who wasn’t scoring goals?’
‘Yes, I can understand that. I’d substitute him shortly after half time.’
‘There’s your answer then.’
Carrie said hello as he passed her desk, but his mind was elsewhere. He’d never been substituted before. He was Hoddesdon’s top striker for goodness’ sake. Maybe he was getting past it. Maybe his skills and confidence had deserted him. Maybe the pressure to succeed was just too much. He’d always been able to find the goal before. Knew exactly where it was, and what to do with the ball in the ten-yard box.
The middle of next week! That wasn’t long to find his mojo again. Not only that, he had a pregnant wife who refused to give birth, and a plan to be doing something else over the weekend. He was slowly being crushed between a rock and a hard place.
‘God you stink,’ he said to Richards when she climbed into the car. ‘Open the window.’
‘You don’t smell like a bowl of cherries either. And it’s your fault that people avoided me like the plague as I walked back from the garage.’
‘You’ll be all right once you’ve had a bath.’
‘I’d
better be. If I still smell like a toilet after I’ve had a bath you’ll be in serious trouble.’
‘Talking of trouble, if we haven’t made significant progress on the investigation by the middle of next week, you’re history.’
‘Me? Why me?’
‘You’re not pulling your weight.’
‘I am too... You’re lying. What about you?’
‘Didn’t I say? Yes, I’ll be history as well.’
‘What, they’re going to sack us?’
‘No, that’s not the way it works. They replace us with the bright new things, or the has-beens. We’re shuffled sideways into meaningless jobs until we retire.’
‘I’m only twenty-two. I have another forty years until I retire. They can’t do that.’
‘There you go again using that “can’t” word. You’re young, you think you’ve got the world at your feet, that the future is a world full of rainbows, pots of gold, and ice cream. One day – soon, I hope – you’ll discover that people above you can do anything they damn well please, and that their actions are focused on self-interest.’
‘You’re just cynical.’
‘I told you when we first met that I was the cynical side of the partnership, but consider this. The Chief Constable has given us until the middle of next week – why?’
‘Well, because someone needs to find the killer... and the babies.’
‘But why?’
‘It’s the right thing to do?’
‘Of course, but what would happen to the Chief Constable if he allowed us to stumble along – bumping into things, but not actually getting anywhere?’
‘I suppose he’d get the sack.’
‘Ah, you see – he’s sacrificing us to save himself.’
‘He doesn’t have a choice, does he?’
‘See, you even believe that it’s the right thing to do. I might have to sacrifice you to save myself.’
She grinned. ‘You wouldn’t do that.’
‘Why wouldn’t I?’
‘Because you’re not that type of person.’
‘So, why do you think it’s all right for the Chief Constable to throw us to the lions?’