by Tim Ellis
‘It looks like an enchanted forest, Sir.’
Parish grunted. ‘You watch far too much television, Richards.’
‘We’re not going to go over there, are we? We’ll need wellies or something if we’re going to go over there.’
‘We’ll be all right. I haven’t finally found the orphanage and come all the way out here only to leave without taking a look.’
‘You could give me a piggyback.’
‘I’m the senior officer, Richards. You could give me a piggyback.’
She pulled a face.
‘Your face will stay like that one of these days.’
She stuck the tip of her tongue out.
He pulled the top wire of the fence up so that Richards could duck underneath, and then they started across the field with Richards gripping Parish’s upper arm. The frozen ground was uneven and it was hard trying to stay upright, but eventually they were standing before the thorn enshrouded fence. They began to walk in an anti-clockwise direction around the wall of thorns until they came to the main entrance and an access road leading to Vicarage Lane. A sign instructed them to ring Rushdon Property Management on 0800 800 9785 for enquiries.
‘I should have worn my snow boots this morning,’ Richards said, looking down at her shoes. ‘It feels as though I’ve got blocks of ice at the end of my legs.’
‘Stop whining and write the number down. It looks as though the only way we’re going to get inside is if someone lets us in.’
Just then his mobile rang.
‘Parish?’
‘You just sit in your office waiting for me to call, don’t you, Parish?’
‘Hello, Doc. Yes, we’re just playing Monopoly, and I’ve got hotels on Mayfair and Park Lane. Richards has just popped out for some pickled eggs to go with the beers, so don’t make me come out in this horrible weather when we’re having such a good time.’
‘Yes, very funny. Put your riot gear on and meet me in the reception at Redbridge Council.’
‘Bloody hell, Doc. Not again?’
Chapter Nineteen
At quarter past four Richards slowed down in front of Redbridge Council as a herd of reporters ran into the road like Wildebeest and surrounded the car. Cameras flashed. Microphones scratched the car’s paintwork and smashed into the side window in the crush, trying to record any utterance Parish might make.
‘They’re like a pack of wild dogs.’ Richards said. ‘I’ll have to explain any damage when I take it back to the garage.’
‘The mechanics are used to it.’ He smiled and pointed at the television camera aimed directly at them. ‘At least you’ll have television evidence to support your story.’
Richards smiled, pouted her lips and waved at the camera. ‘You didn’t tell me I’d be on the television. I’ll have to get my hair done and be more careful with my make-up in the mornings.’
‘Stop boring me.’
‘Sorry.’
Richards parked on the double yellow lines directly in front of the council offices. Two constables held the mad dogs at bay as they ran up the steps to the entrance.
A thin familiar-looking security guard with dark hair and lazy eyes held the glass door open for them.
A great believer in politeness costing nothing, Parish said, ‘Thank you.’
Richards, breathing heavily, said, ‘That was a bit scary.’
‘I know. Sometimes the press are worse than the criminals we’re paid to arrest, torture and lock up.’
Richards smiled. ‘If you say so.’
Parish looked about and saw a group of council staff milling around the reception desk. Sergeant Ken Rice came towards him.
‘Hello, Ken,’ Parish said. He’d known Ken Rice since they’d attended the Sergeant’s course together eight years ago. Married with three school-aged children, Rice was the same age as Parish, but had woken up eighteen months ago with white hair instead of black.
‘Hi, Jed, or should I say, Sir? Congratulations on the promotion.’
‘I’m sure they’ve promoted the wrong Parish by mistake, but thanks anyway, Ken. Were you first on the scene?’
‘Yes, I got here shortly after it was called in.’
‘What’s been happening?’
‘The victim’s in the lift,’ Rice said. ‘Doc Michelin and that oddball Toadstone are over there in white suits. I called for some reinforcements and we’ve got the place locked down until you say otherwise, but it was a good hour before we were able to do that so I expect the killer is long gone.’
‘I suppose you’re right, Ken. Good job anyway. Are there any eyewitnesses?’
‘None have come forward. A woman pressed for the lift; the doors opened; she screamed and fainted – but she doesn’t know anything. What do you want me to do now?’
‘Give me a minute to find out about the victim. I’ll come back to you.’
Doc Michelin was waving at them. They walked over to where one of the lifts was locked in the open position and peered inside. A fat old man with straggly grey hair was slumped in the corner. Toadstone was on his hands and knees examining the floor with a magnifying glass.
‘We’ve got something a bit different this time, Parish,’ Doc Michelin said. ‘Token number 43 in his mouth; stabbed through the heart with a marlinspike. . . but after he was already dead.’
‘Go on, Doc, don’t leave us on the edge of our seats.’
‘He had his trachea crushed first…’
‘I wish you wouldn’t use jargon, Doc.’
‘Sorry, habit, the windpipe… Then he was stabbed in the heart.’ He knelt down and pointed at the entry wound. ‘Notice the lack of blood.’
Parish turned to Richards. ‘What do you think happened?’
She looked at the two men with shock etched on her face. ‘Oh… Well, it could be that the killer was surprised. A bit like me now.’
Parish smiled. ‘Keep going,’ he encouraged her.
Richards swallowed. ‘He wasn’t ready to kill his victim with the marlinspike, so he hit him in the windpipe.’
‘That would require someone with a lot of strength, wouldn’t it, Doc?’ Parish asked.
‘Not necessarily. If you knew what you were doing, you could kill someone fairly easily with a punch to the throat.’
‘No help there then,’ Parish said. ‘Carry on, Richards. What do you mean, he was surprised? If the killer wasn’t ready, why didn’t he wait?’
‘Because…. He had to kill the victim?’
‘Why?’
‘We already think that the killer and the victims knew each other, so this victim could have recognised him.’
‘Okay, good,’ Parish said. ‘I think we’re getting somewhere. So the victim said, “Hey, I know you,” and the killer thumped him in the windpipe. What did the killer do then?’
‘Well, he stabbed the man in the heart and then put the token in his mouth.’
‘You’re missing something. Where was the marlinspike when all this was happening?’
‘In… Ah, I see what you mean. If he had it on him, why didn’t he use it instead of hitting the man in the throat?’
‘Exactly. We also have another problem.’ He stared at Toadstone on the floor. ‘Was he killed in the lift or somewhere else, Toadstone?’
Toadstone sat back on his heels. ‘There’re no scrape marks on the floor and none on the victim’s shoes, either. He could have been lifted in, but considering the size of him that seems unlikely. I’d say he was hit while he was standing up in here and then collapsed to the floor.’
‘Thanks, but if that’s the case why did no one see anything? It’s Tuesday afternoon; there are staff and visitors all over the place. Why haven’t we got any witnesses?’ He looked up at the CCTV cameras. ‘What about the security disc? If the killer was recognised, then he might not have had his hood up. This murder could be the breakthrough we’ve been waiting for. Have we got the security disc, Toadstone?’
‘The first thing we did was confiscate the disc, but it�
�ll need analysing. I should have something for you tomorrow.’
‘Tomorrow? ’Parish was incredulous. ‘Get somebody on it now, Toadstone. We’ve got this place locked down. The killer could still be here.’
Toadstone stood up, wandered out into the reception and spoke to another white-suited figure. Then he came back and carried on with his examination of the lift floor.
‘We haven’t asked why the killer and the victim were here,’ Richards said.
‘Good point. Who is the victim, Toadstone?’
‘According to his driving licence, his name is Graham Pearson. He’s 72 years old and he lives at 267, Forest Lane in Chigwell, which, if I’m not mistaken, overlooks the golf course.’
‘Crap!’ Parish said. ‘I guess we won’t be talking to the last manager of Beech Tree Orphanage after all.’
‘What was he doing here?’ Richards said. ‘And why now? Was he visiting someone at the council?’
‘You’re asking some damn good questions this afternoon, Richards.’ He walked over to speak to Sergeant Rice. ‘Ken, the victim’s name is Graham Pearson. We need to get everyone’s contact details in the building, and while you’re doing that I want to know who he was here to see. He didn’t wander in off the street and get in the lift just for the hell of it; he came here to see someone. Once people have been interviewed and you’ve got their details, send them home.’
‘Leave it with me, Jed.’
Sergeant Rice began organising tables and chairs in front of the entrance and put one of his officers at each of the tables with clear instructions for obtaining the identity of every person, their contact details, why they were in the building and if they knew the victim.
‘I don’t understand why the killer stabbed Pearson in the heart,’ Richards said. ‘If he was already dead, what was the point?’
The Doc scratched his stubble. ‘Stabbing the victims in the heart with a marlinspike could have some symbolic meaning,’ he suggested. ‘He’s used the same weapon for all the murders.’
‘Interesting hypothesis, Doc. Suggestions?’
‘Love?’ Richards blurted out. ‘Stabbing them in the heart could be about love.’
‘What, you mean like: I’m stabbing you in the heart because I love you?’
‘No. More like: I’m stabbing you in the heart because you broke my heart.’
‘Not four men and a woman, Richards. I don’t think it’s revenge for a broken heart. We’ve agreed that it’s about revenge and that the tokens mean something in the context of Beech Tree Orphanage. Stabbing the victims in the heart with a marlinspike could very well mean something to the killer, but I don’t think we’ll find out what that is until we catch him.’
Just then a forensic officer came up and spoke to Toadstone, who then interrupted their speculation.
‘The security disc is useless.’
Parish screwed his face up. ‘I’ll pretend I didn’t hear that, Toadstone.’
‘Whoever killed Graham Pearson also took the disc out of the computer and replaced it with a new one. In other words, there’s no CCTV surveillance on the disc until after the murder.’
‘How is that possible?’ Parish asked. ‘The door into the security office has a digital keypad. Only the security staff can get in there, can’t they?’
Toadstone shrugged. ‘I’ll get back to work and leave you to find out what happened, Sir.’
Parish walked over to the thin security guard. ‘What’s your name?’
‘Terry Reynolds, Sir.’
‘How many security staff are on duty, Mr Reynolds?’
‘Three, Sir.’
‘Who’s in charge?’
‘Mr Townsend.’
‘According to my forensics officer, the CCTV disc has been taken from the computer in the security office and replaced with another one. If the door has a digital keypad and only the security staff know the code, how is that possible - unless one of you took it?’
The man looked away and shuffled his feet. ‘I think you’d better speak to Mr Townsend, Sir.’
‘Where is he?’
‘Have you tried the security office?’
‘Okay, let’s go there. Where’s the other member of your team?’
‘He should be in the office as well.’
Parish turned to Richards. ‘While I’m sorting this mess out, ring the number for Rushdon Property Management and ask them to meet us at the orphanage at eleven o’clock tomorrow morning with the keys.’
Richards nodded.
Parish headed towards the security office behind the reception with the thin security guard following him. A tall man with a paunch and cropped brown hair opened the door.
‘Who are you?’ Parish asked, showing his warrant card.
‘Ollie Townsend.’
‘You’re Head of Security?’
‘Yes.’
‘I’ve got Terry Reynolds here. Is the other member of your team in there with you?’
‘Sol Campbell? Yeah, he’s here. You’d better come in, Inspector.’
A thickset black man, who Parish assumed was Sol Campbell, stopped reading his newspaper and stared at him.
Once they were all in the security office, Parish introduced himself and told them about the CCTV surveillance disc. ‘Now, as I see it, one of you three took the disc, or someone else had access to it.’ Leaning against a filing cabinet, he glared at them. ‘Well?’
Nobody would look him in the eyes.
‘This is a murder investigation, gentlemen. If you won’t tell me the truth here, I’ll take you all down to the station.’
Terry Reynolds looked at Ollie Townsend and said, ‘You’d better tell him, Ollie.’
‘I’ll lose my job.’
‘You’ll lose your job if you don’t tell me,’ Parish said.
‘I had a bit of a snooze.’
‘And…?’ Parish pushed.
‘And the door to the office was propped open with the fire extinguisher.’
‘Christ almighty! So, what you’re telling me is that anyone could have walked in, helped themselves to the disc and trundled out again?’
Looking at the floor, Ollie Townsend mumbled, ‘Yes.’
‘You’re right, Mr Townsend,’ Parish said. ‘You will lose your job. The first chance we have of identifying the killer and you fall asleep in a secure area using a fire extinguisher to prop open the door. I suggest you tell your boss what happened before he finds out from me.’
Parish turned, opened the door and left. Out in reception, Sergeant Rice caught his attention. ‘What have you got, Ken?’
‘The PA to the Personnel Director, a Mrs Carrie Holden, said she was standing in for the Finance Director’s secretary who’s off sick, and she saw the victim up there. He came in and asked for Mr Squires. He obviously hadn’t heard about the suicide.’
Parish saw Carrie sitting at a table and walked over to talk to her. ‘Hi, Carrie.’
‘Hello, Inspector.’
He sat down on the table. ‘What did you say when Graham Pearson asked for Mr Squires?’
‘I simply said that Mr Squires had died.’
‘Did he say anything?’
‘He thanked me and left. That’s all I know.’
‘Are you okay?’
‘I’m all right, Jed.’ She touched his hand. ‘I’ve thrown him out and started divorce proceedings. He realises now that he made a mistake. The thing is so do I. I should never have married the bastard. I’ll make him pay through the nose now, though.’
Parish stood up. ‘Look after yourself, Carrie.’
‘And you, Jed Parish. Thanks.’
He saw Richards watching them and walked over to her. He told her what had happened to the surveillance disc, and then said, ‘What did Rushdon Property Management say?’
‘They said we’d need a warrant. So I used my initiative and phoned DI Kowalski who told me how to go about getting a warrant. I’ve got to pick it up from the CPS offices at nine thirty tomorrow morning. I then rang
the management company back and told them I had a warrant and they were to send someone to be there at eleven o’clock with the keys, or else.’
‘Well done – I’ll make a detective out of you yet. You didn’t have to promise DI Kowalski anything before he’d help you, did you?’
Richards’ lip curled up. ‘I see you know him very well. Unfortunately, a spotty kid at a beach party in Cornwall stole my virginity five years ago. When I threatened to report DI Kowalski for sexual harassment, he couldn’t do enough for me.’
‘I’m seeing a different side to you, Richards.’
‘I told you I could look after myself.’
‘Well done. I think we’ve finished here now. What do you think?’
‘We’re not really any closer to finding the killer are we?’
‘Not after those idiots in the security office lost the CCTV surveillance disc.’
‘I’ve been thinking about something.’
‘Go on. Let your imagination run free.’
‘If the killer didn’t have the marlinspike and the token on him when he killed Graham Pearson, where were they?’
‘In a bag?’ Parish suggested.
‘What if the killer is a member of staff? What if he went to get the marlinspike and the token from somewhere in the building and then came back and finished what he’d started.’
Parish thought about Richards’ ‘what-if’ scenario. ‘The first murder was Gregory Taylor on Ralston Drive in Chigwell. At that time there was no connection to Redbridge Council. Right?’
‘Right.’
‘The second murder was Diane Flint in the car park here. There was no reason to suspect that the killer might be someone who worked here. In fact, we had no leads to suggest it was anyone. All we knew was that Diane Flint’s murder was connected to Gregory Taylor’s death, and it therefore diverted attention away from here. Okay so far?’
‘Okay.’
‘Then, Brian Ridpath was killed in an alley, and still there was nothing to suggest the killer might work here. What we did get with Ridpath’s murder was a link back to the Finance Department, and then Martin Squires committed suicide after destroying the council’s financial data. It was then that we found out about Beech Tree Orphanage. Agreed?’