by Tim Ellis
‘You didn’t tell me I’d be working twenty-four hours a day and have no life.’
‘Redbridge Council,’ he said.
She turned the car around and headed out of Chigwell on the B173.
‘Detectives are special people. If you want a life you should go and be a secretary or a shop assistant.’
He said it in such a way that didn’t invite a reply, and he didn’t get one. He wasn’t happy. The first time he’d arranged to meet a woman in months, years even, and he’d been called out. It was true what he’d said to Richards: if he wanted a life he should go and be a bin man or a petrol station attendant, something that didn’t overflow into time off. He chose to be a detective and it was no use moaning about it now. Things weren’t going to change anytime soon.
They arrived in the underground car park of Redbridge Council at eight fifty – thirty-five minutes after Doc Michelin’s phone call. There was an ambulance with a flashing light and two paramedics standing beside it talking, an unmarked forensics van, a police car with a constable trying to look important and the Doc’s Renault Espace.
‘Did you come via Manchester, Sergeant?’ Doc Michelin said.
‘I didn’t have my car with me when you called, and Richards took forever to pick me up.’
Affronted, Richards said, ‘Sirrr!’
He moved to where the body lay slumped against a silver car. She was a short, plump woman, probably early fifties, smartly dressed with straw-like blonde hair that had obviously been dyed. He squatted and looked more closely at the stab wound and the woman’s face, but there was really nothing to see.
‘My guess is that she was surprised from behind. When she turned around, the killer stabbed her. Like the last victim, she died almost instantly. He knows what he’s doing with that marlinspike. Okay to move the body now?’
‘Has forensics finished with it?’ He looked around and saw Toadstone on his hands and knees near the lift doors. He also spotted a CCTV camera in a metal and wire mesh housing on the wall.
‘Some time ago. He’s scouring the area now, but I doubt he’ll find anything.’
‘Is that your paramedic, Richards?’ Parish said.
‘He’s not my paramedic.’
‘Well, whoever he belongs to, tell him to take the body to the mortuary.’
‘Yes, Sir.’
He turned to the uniformed constable. ‘Who found the body?’
‘The security guard doing his rounds, Sarge. He’s up on the ground floor behind the reception area.’
There was nothing left to do at the crime scene, but before he went up to speak to the security guard, he asked Toadstone to analyse the metal content of both tokens just in case it wasn’t obvious to him.
‘It might be a bit later than nine thirty, Sergeant.’
‘Why?’
‘Well, I won’t get in until late. They don’t pay us overtime, you know. We have to take time off in lieu where we can.’
‘So you’re going to take your time off in lieu tomorrow morning?’
‘That’s right. It’ll probably be after lunch now.’
‘I should arrest you for obstructing an ongoing investigation, Toadstone.’
‘You could, but then you probably wouldn’t get the analysis done at all. They’re a bit thin on the ground in forensics.’
Parish realised the conversation wasn’t going anywhere. ‘Just get it to me when you can, Toadstone. Remember, lives could be at stake.’
‘Yeah, the other detectives play the guilt card as well. It’ll be my fault if someone else dies. It doesn’t work, you know.’
Parish walked towards the lift. ‘Richards, when you’re ready.’ He held the lift doors open for her.
Inside the lift, she said, ‘We’ve got a link between the two victims, haven’t we?’
‘Have you been watching the Crime Channel again?’
She smiled and her brown eyes sparkled. ‘Yes, but it’s true, isn’t it?’
‘Yes, it’s true. Well done. Redbridge Council seems to link Greg Taylor and Diane Flint. Quite how is something we now need to investigate, if we’re still on the case in the morning.’
‘What do you mean?’
‘Well, what you seem to have missed is that we’re now hunting a serial killer. The same modus operandi has been used on both victims – they were stabbed through the heart with a marlinspike, and a numbered token was inserted into their mouths.’
‘But why would they take you off the case?’
‘Serial killers usually get their own task force. I might be lucky and get put on it because I’ve been working the case, but you’ve got no chance.’
‘That’s a bit mean.’
‘It’s what happens. Not only that, they won’t have a lowly DS heading up the hunt for a serial killer - not senior enough. They’ll probably put a Detective Chief Inspector in charge.’
The lift doors opened and they stepped out into the council reception. A security guard came towards them with his arm outstretched.
‘Paul Cummins. I used to be on the job.’
Parish shook Cummins’ hand, and introduced himself and Richards. He wondered what Cummins had done wrong to end up as a security guard.
‘I was stabbed in the line of duty, if you’re wondering why I’m a security guard, Sarge,’ he said. ‘I couldn’t carry on after that.’
‘Sorry to hear that, Cummins. Have you checked the security disc?’ Parish asked.
‘Yes, the murder is on there.’
Richards’ eyes opened wide. ‘We’ve got the killer on tape?’
‘Don’t get too excited. Remember, he wears a hood.’
They followed Paul Cummins through a door at the side of the reception desk, along a corridor and into the security room. There was a bank of six televisions showing split-screen views of various parts of the council building, and they were all connected via a box to a single computer.
Cummins was sitting facing the computer. ‘Are you ready?’ he asked.
‘Go,’ Parish said.
They watched the murder unfold. As expected, the killer was dressed completely in black with a hood hiding his face.
Cummins took the disc out of the drive, put it in a case and gave it to Parish. ‘I expect you’ll be passing it to forensics to see if they can enhance the picture.’
‘I expect so,’ Parish said, putting the disc in his pocket. ‘Well, thanks for your help, Cummins.’
‘You’re welcome, Sarge. I hope you catch him.’
They caught the lift down to the car park. It was nine thirty-five. Everyone had left. Diane Flint’s silver Lexus had been locked and left where it was.
‘Let’s go home, Richards.’ He was drained, hadn’t been sleeping well lately. Maybe he wasn’t ready to lead a murder investigation. And now that they were looking for a serial killer, the stakes were that much higher. He expected he’d be relieved to hand the case over. At least he was confident that he’d done everything by the book. Nobody could criticise him for a sloppy investigation. He’d try to keep Richards on the team, but it depended who took over. Before he went to bed he’d have to send the Chief another email to update him on what had happened tonight, give him a list of leads they planned to pursue and offer to step aside. The Chief had enough problems without him kicking up a stink. He’d get another chance before too long. They all knew he could do it now, and he’d get promoted to DI at the next promotion board.
‘We’re here.’
‘Thanks.’ He wasn’t in the mood for conversation. ‘I’ll see you in the morning, Richards.’
‘Good night, Sir.’
He closed the door and she rattled off in her rustbucket.
***
Friday, 17th January
It was five a.m. when he woke up sweating. As usual, he couldn’t remember the nightmare, but he was sure he had been allocated token number fifty-five. What that meant he had no idea, but the case was obviously getting to him. It was probably a good idea that he was handing it ove
r; his sleep patterns would return to normal.
He got up, made a coffee and logged on to FindLove.com. He’d clearly blown it with LoopyLou, but there were others. Now that he wasn’t pursuing a serial killer, maybe he’d make some time for himself.
LoopyLou had sent him a message which contained a lot of swear words and some travel advice. Who could blame her? He deleted the message. There were a further seven women eager to find out who he was. He opened the first of the two messages he’d left in his inbox yesterday. It was from a twenty-eight year old with three children. He decided he’d be no good as a father and deleted the invitation for a family meal. The next message was from a sixty year old grandmother of seven who wanted to know if he was interested in becoming a toy boy. He pressed the delete button.
The other messages were much the same and he deleted each one in turn.
‘And then there were none,’ he said out loud. It was the story of his love life. He smiled. A love life was stretching the truth to snapping point. There was no love, and the life he had was a lonely journey towards old age and death. There had been a couple of women, but they never seemed to hang around for more than a couple of months. As soon as they realised that the job came first, they were waving goodbye. And who could blame them? If they had stuck it out, their lives would be going nowhere like his was.
He shaved and showered, then watched the news on the small television in the kitchenette. He would have eaten a couple of pieces of toast, but the bread in the packet had turned a furry green. He made a mental note to do some shopping on his way home. The local news had picked up on the “horrific stabbing of the Redbridge Director of Social Services”, but had failed to link Greg Taylor’s death to Diane Flint’s. Well, of course, they didn’t know about the marlinspike and the tokens, or Greg Taylor’s earlier life as a rent advisor at the council, and the Chief wasn’t going to do their work for them. He knew they’d find out soon enough, and then the hunt would be on for someone to blame, someone’s career to ruin. Yes, he was relieved that it was no longer his case. The sooner he offloaded it onto a senior officer, the better.
Then he remembered that he had some time this morning. It was seven thirty. He could stop off at a café on the way to the station and have a fry-up with all the trimmings. He could take his time and savour the moment. Life was looking up. He could even do a spot of shopping and store it in the boot of his car until he knocked off later. It would save him time tonight, and instead of hunting for a serial killer in Chigwell he could hunt for a woman on FindLove.com.
***
As he walked into the station at nine fifteen he felt stuffed. Usually, meals were snatched, grazed or plastic. It made a nice change to take his time eating a decent meal.
The usual banter accompanied him to his desk. He had just over half an hour before his meeting with the Chief.
Richards rustled in at nine-thirty in her snow boots and quilted coat.
Kowalski shouted a greeting to her, and she waved and smiled at him.
‘Good morning, Richards,’ Parish said.
‘Good morning, Sir.’
‘I’ll be handing the case over to a senior officer soon, so let’s go into the incident room and cobble together a summary of where we are and what the next steps might be.’
She followed him to the incident room and stripped off her coat, hat, gloves and scarf.
‘Do you want a coffee, Sir?’
‘You mean you’d like a coffee?’
‘I’ll make it. I saw the kitchen when I came in.’
‘Go on then, but be quick, and remember I have four sugars in mine.’
‘I’ll never forget that.’
She had pulled the door closed before he had formulated a reply. This tiredness was making him slow, he thought. Normally, a withering response would have screeched off his tongue like a mad dwarf wielding an axe, but he felt a bit muggy this morning. Maybe he was coming down with something. It was the flu season after all.
Richards came back with the coffee.
‘We’ve got two murders,’ Parish said, drawing two lines on the whiteboard. One was headed Gregory Taylor and the other Diane Flint. ‘Both victims were stabbed in the heart with a marlinspike and both had a token with a different number inserted into their mouths. It’s clearly the same killer, but apart from the modus operandi the only other connection between the two victims is Redbridge Council.’
‘The link is a bit weak. Although we know Mr Taylor worked at Redbridge Council, how would the killer have found out?’
Parish was quiet for some time and sipped his coffee. Eventually he said, ‘Because he already knew.’
‘But… that would mean the killings are related to something that happened between 1982 and 1986.’
‘If that’s true, Richards, why was Diane Flint killed? Did she work for the council during that period as well? While I’m meeting with the Chief, ring someone at the council and find out. It would be good to hand over the case with a large portion of the jigsaw completed.’
‘Okay.’ She wrote down the task in her notebook.
He took the security disc from Redbridge Council out of his pocket and handed it to her. ‘Take that up to forensics and ask them to magic up a face for us. Oh, and get the keys to Diane Flint’s house off Toadstone.’
‘I don’t know where forensics is.’
‘You’re a detective now, Richards – detect.’
‘Yes, Sir.’
‘Also, we still need to see Mrs Taylor, so try and arrange an appointment, and ring Doc Michelin to find out when he’s doing Diane Flint’s post-mortem.’
Richards wrote furiously on her ‘to do’ list.
‘Have I missed anything, Richards?’
‘Do we need to go and look at Diane Flint’s house?’
‘Yes, we do. Okay, follow me. You can sit at my desk and use the phone there.’
‘Did we get any information from the leaflet drop we made on Ralston Drive?’
He shook his head. ‘Not a squeak.’
She grabbed the pile of clothes off the chair and followed Parish out to the squad room.
‘And don’t talk to DI Kowalski. He’s married with seven kids, and you know he only wants you for one thing.’
‘Stop worrying about me. I can take care of myself.’
‘Yes, well, I’m only along the corridor if you do need me.’
‘I’ll be all right. Have a good meeting.’
***
Parish walked along the corridor, knocked and stuck his head round the Chief’s door.
‘Come in, Parish,’ the Chief said.
Even before he’d sat down, the Chief started on him. ‘What’s this about you wanting to hand over the case?’
‘Well…’
‘During my radiotherapy at the hospital I was on the phone to the Chief Constable. Following my recommendation, he convened an emergency promotion board. You’re a Detective Inspector now, Parish, but if you’re now telling me you can’t handle the pressure, that you want to hand the investigation over to a more senior officer, that you want to remain a sergeant for the rest of your doomed career…’
‘A DI, Sir?’
‘That’s what I said, Parish. With immediate effect, and this time you’ll get the pay.’
He stood up, grasped the Chief’s hand and shook it as if he were pumping water at a well.
‘Remember, I’m not the man I used to be, Inspector.’
Parish dropped the Chief’s hand. ‘Sorry, Sir. I got carried away. Thank you.’
‘You deserve it, Parish. I’ve been really impressed with how you’ve handled this case so far. No one could have done more. And getting PC Richards from Cheshunt to help you showed real initiative.’
It wasn’t often Parish became embarrassed, but he felt his face burning up as if he’d stepped too close to the sun. ‘Considering what you’re dealing with yourself, Sir, I’m very grateful you had time to think of me.’
‘Pah! The cancer will either disappear
or it won’t. Some days I think it’s the cure that’s killing me, not the cancer. Anyway, it’s not worth worrying about things we can’t change. So, what’s your next move?’
‘Redbridge Council, Sir. We have a tenuous link between the two victims. What we need to find out now is whether Diane Flint worked there at the same time as Gregory Taylor. Also, once we get the metal content of the tokens from forensics, I’ll send them to Carlgren in Sweden and see what he comes back with. There’s also the security disc from last night’s murder, which Richards has taken up to forensics. Maybe they can extract a face for us.’
‘Good. I’ve called a press conference for two o’clock. Time to introduce our new DI to the press. I’ll take the lead on this one, but then you’ll be on your own.’
‘Okay, Sir.’
‘Are you going to sit here all morning, or go out there and do some work, Detective Inspector Parish?’
He stood up. The sound of Detective Inspector Parish sounded like music to his ears. At the door he turned and said, ‘Thanks again, Sir.’
‘Oh, by the way, Parish – Kowalski tortured me until I told him, so don’t be surprised if he’s decorated your desk with banners or something equally obnoxious.’
‘Bloody hell, Sir.’
Chapter Nine
Parish tried to sneak out, but Kowalski was waiting for him in the corridor.
‘Don’t think you can disappoint your fans, Parish,’ Kowalski said, herding him back towards the squad room like a stray sheep.
‘Come on, Kowalski. You know how I hate things like this. How much do you want?’
‘Trying to bribe a police officer is a crime, Parish.’
He knew he wasn’t going to get anywhere with Kowalski, so he resigned himself to the embarrassment of a party. His colleagues were all gathered in the squad room clapping. The Chief was right: his desk was adorned with banners and bunting. The detectives congratulated him and slapped him on the back as he walked amongst them like the Second Coming.