by Tim Ellis
‘The bastard brought children down here.’
‘They’re all dirty scumbags, Sir.’ She picked up a magazine off one of the shelves. ‘It’s full of children. By the writing, I’d say it comes from Eastern Europe. We’re not going to look through all of this, are we?’
His face was set hard. ‘This place is a paedophile’s haven. Let’s leave it to Toadstone; he’s used to sifting through filth.’
‘It’s definite now isn’t it? We’re dealing with a bunch of paedophiles, aren’t we?’
‘Yes, I would say so, but we’ve known that for a while, haven’t we?’
‘Yes. Do you think that all the victims were involved in abusing the children in the orphanage and the killer was one of those children?’
‘That’s a good working theory. We’re still nowhere near identifying a suspect though, are we? We have no records of the children who were put in there, no information about the staff who worked there and no details of what went on in there. We don’t even know what the orphanage looks like.’
‘We should get some answers tomorrow when we meet Peter Rushdon, shouldn’t we?’
‘I doubt he will be able to tell us who the killer is. I’m beginning to think we’ll never find him.’
‘It’s not like you to give up, Sir.’
‘I’m not giving up; I’m simply voicing my thoughts out loud. That’s why you’re here – to give me feedback. Let’s go,’ he said, pushing her towards the stairs. ‘I don’t like cellars; they give me the heebie-jeebies.’
Richards squealed as she stepped out of the pantry. Toadstone was standing in the shadows of the kitchen like the Grim Reaper waiting for her.
‘Sorry, Mary, I didn’t mean to scare you.’
‘Well you did, you idiot,’ she said, walking towards the front door.
‘That’s no way to win the fair lady’s heart, Toadstone.’
‘I didn’t do it on purpose. You’ll tell her that, won’t you, Sir?’
‘I’ll tell her, but every time she sees you now she’ll be reminded of how you made her heart flutter and not in a good way either.’
Toadstone’s shoulders slumped. ‘Oh well, as you said, Sir, she’s probably out of my league.’
‘Don’t give up so easily, Toadstone.’
‘Do you think there’s still a chance?’
‘There’s always a chance.’
‘Okay, thanks, Sir. What’s in the pantry besides food?’
‘A secret door, stairs and a cellar. In that cellar is filth of the highest order, which you will have to wade through to provide me with a report. I don’t envy you, Toadstone.’
‘More shit on children?’
‘I’m afraid so.’
‘Some of my officers are rooting for the killer, Sir. They think he’s doing a good job getting rid of these perverts.’
‘Well tell them to stop rooting, and just do the job. As much as we dislike this type of thing, the law is the law. Imagine what type of world we’d be living in if there was no law.’
‘I know. Don’t worry – they’ll do their job.’
‘Good. Richards and I are going back to the station now.’
‘I doubt you’ll get a report on this before Monday of next week.’
‘There’s no rush, Toadstone. Goodnight.’
‘Goodnight, Sir, and say goodnight to Mary for me.’
***
Richards was sitting in the car with the heater on.
‘Toadstone says goodnight,’ Parish said as he climbed in. ‘He was ready to give up on you, but I persuaded him that he might still be in with a chance.’
‘So, let me get this right. Your relationship with my mum is off limits, but you can meddle in my relationships?’
‘That sounds about right. I didn’t realise you were already having a relationship with Toadstone, though. Maybe you ought to tell him.’
She put the car in gear and set off towards the station with a face like a pinched peach.
The digital clock on the dashboard displayed ten past six. He was running out of time again and was glad that Angie planned to bring some food because he hadn’t had time to buy any.
Is that what this case boils down to? he wondered. Revenge for being abused? He still had no idea what relevance the marlinspike and the tokens had in the scheme of things. The tokens had obviously been used for something in Beech Tree, but what? Was abuse rife in the orphanage or was it just the killer who was abused? With so many victims it seemed likely there were a number of abusers and a number of children being abused. How were the abusers able to get away with it for so long? There were still so many questions that remained unanswered. Maybe tomorrow he would get some answers. Surely the Chief Constable wouldn’t allow him much more time?
Richards pulled into Hoddesdon station car park.
‘Pick the car up in the morning, park up and then come into the station. While I’m seeing CI Naylor and doing the press briefing, you can consolidate what we’ve got and summarise where we are. Construct a list of the things we still haven’t got answers for, and so on.’
‘Okay.’
‘Is your nose out of joint?’
‘What could possibly have caused that disfigurement?’
‘I’m sure I don’t know. Goodnight, Richards.’
‘Goodnight, Sir.’
He stamped up the back stairs to get the snow off his shoes. Some of the lights had been switched off to save electricity. He felt like a sightless person and had to adjust his eyes to accommodate for the dimness.
‘Parish, as I live and breathe,’ Kowalski said, popping his head above a partition.
‘Hello, Ray - how’s it hanging?’
‘You didn’t bring Richards back, then?’
‘Gone home, but I heard about you propositioning her when she asked for help on how to do a warrant.’
‘It was a joke, Jed.’
‘You’re gonna get yourself locked up if you’re not careful, Ray. In future, I’d appreciate it if you kept your sexist jokes for your wife.’
‘Everything’s changed, Jed. There was a time when you could have a laugh with stuff like that, but now you have to be whiter than white. I keep wondering where it all went wrong. Maybe I need to get out of this job and find something more suited to my sense of humour.’
‘What you need to do, Ray, is treat people as equals. The only legitimate targets we’ve got now are the criminals.’
‘Don’t get me started on those bastards, Jed. I used to be able to do some persuasion to get at the truth, but now you can’t touch them. They have more rights than the bloody victims. It makes me sick to my stomach when I see them walk out of court because they hired a slick barrister. Sometimes… Sometimes, I think I’ll buy a sniper’s rifle and pop them as they come out of the courthouse, splatter a 7.62 round into their smirking faces.’
‘I think you should go home, Ray, get some rest, take some time off. I’ve never heard you talk like this. What’s happened?’
‘The little shit who killed that seven year old girl with the car he stole walked free this afternoon. Weeks of work down the drain and my reputation in the shredder.’
‘I’m sorry to hear that, Ray. Still, you need to gain some perspective. Go home and get drunk.’
‘Interested in joining me at Dirty Nelly’s?’
‘Sorry, Ray. I’m seeing someone tonight and I’m already late.’
‘I suppose I’ll have to go home and talk to the wife then.’
‘See you in the morning, Ray.’
‘Yeah.’
Parish walked to his desk, but found the computer had been switched off. He didn’t have the time to wait for the damned thing to come back to life, so he decided to do his report in the morning.
Chapter Twenty-Four
Angie was standing outside his door leaning against the wall when he walked up the stairs to his flat. It had only been four days since Carrie had stood in the same place waiting for him. This woman was different, though. She had
on an Arctic coat with the hood up that swallowed her whole, a pair of snow boots and jeans. On the floor were two reusable bags full of food. He hugged and kissed her.
After unlocking the door, he picked up the bags. ‘We could sleep in your coat tonight.’
‘Who said sleeping was on the agenda?’
‘You’ve come with an agenda? I’d be interested in taking a look at that.’
‘I’m sure you would,’ she said, taking off her coat. ‘Go and get showered. I’ll make us something to eat.’
‘What’re we having?’
‘I thought chilli con carne with rice.’
‘Sounds good. You could sleep here tonight instead of rushing home.’
‘Not yet. We need to talk first.’
‘Talk? Is that on the agenda tonight?’
‘Not tonight – at the weekend.’
He stripped off his clothes in front of her. ‘You seem to have everything organised.’
Half way through his shower, she joined him. Her hands were instruments of magic, able to turn flaccid flesh into iron.
‘I hope you’re not ruining the chilli con carne and rice?’ he said.
‘Do you care?’
‘No.’
They washed each other and he took her from behind.
As he dried her, she said, ‘I’m turning into an immoral woman.’
‘Do you care?’
‘No.’
She’d bought a cheap bottle of Californian white wine to go with the chilli con carne and rice. He wasn’t really a wine-drinking type of person, but he drank it anyway.
‘When are you back at work?’ he asked her.
‘Tomorrow night.’
‘Oh!’
‘I’m on permanent night duty on the Intensive Care Unit. I do a week on and a week off. It suited me before I met you, but now my life is a mess.’
‘Think of me as your psychotherapist.’
She laughed.
After swirling the food around on her plate, she said, ‘Are we together now, Jed Parish?’
‘Is this the weekend talk that’s been rescheduled on the agenda for now?’
‘Yes.’
‘Cards on the table?’
‘All of them – none up the sleeve.’
‘Well, Angela Richards, I knew you were the woman for me from that first night in the restaurant, and I hope you feel the same way?’
‘I feel the same way.’
‘Then, we’re officially together.’
She walked the short distance that separated them and sat in his lap. She wore one of his shirts. The towel he had wrapped around his waist came undone. They made love there, on the chair, with the smell of chilli con carne in their nostrils and love in their eyes and their hearts.
She stayed the night. He held her in his arms and listened to her soft breathing in the darkness. She had said she wasn’t staying, but he began reasoning as people do at one in the morning. He convinced himself that she didn’t want to stay before, but now that they’d had their talk she would thank him for not waking her up.
***
Thursday 23rd January
‘Jed?’
He jerked upright, sweat dripping off him.
Angie stared at him, concern on her face. ‘What’s wrong?’
‘Now you know my darkest secret. I have nightmares.’
‘What about?’
‘Sometimes I’m being dragged down a dark corridor to somewhere terrible, but I always wake up before I get there. That’s all I ever remember.’
‘Nothing else?’
‘No.’
‘I know a good therapist.’
He looked at his watch. It was quarter past five. Swinging his legs over the side of the bed, he said, ‘I don’t think so, but thanks anyway.’
‘What are you afraid of?’
‘The truth, probably,’ he said, heading for the toilet.
When he came back, she said, ‘Tell me about your childhood.’
‘Oh, so you’re the good therapist?’
‘I’ve done a course, but no, it’s not me. It’s a friend – a woman.’
‘You’re not worried she’ll take me away from you?’
Angie laughed. ‘When did you start having these delusions that women are attracted to you?’
He put his head in her lap and his feet up the wall. ‘What do you think my chances of a full recovery are, Doctor?’
She pulled a face. ‘Do you have any other symptoms?’
‘At the moment, I’ve got this erection I can’t seem to get rid of.’
‘Haven’t I treated you for that before, Mr Parish?’
‘Yes, Doctor, but it keeps coming back.’
She took hold of him. ‘I’d better examine this recurring symptom more closely, Mr Parish.’
‘Thank you, Doctor.’
Afterwards, in the shower, they made love again. Parish would have spent the day with her if he could, but he knew it was impossible.
She made him scrambled egg on toast while he sent his report to the Chief Constable.
‘We still haven’t got to the bottom of your nightmares,’ she said after they’d eaten. ‘What happened in your childhood?’
‘I have no memories before being adopted at the age of eight. All I was told was that my parents died in a car crash when I was two. They left me nothing and I had no near relatives. I went into the care system. From there, a family who wouldn’t let me have a puppy adopted me.’
‘That sounds terrible.’
‘It was. I saw the very puppy I wanted, but they wouldn’t let me have it no matter how much I cried and stamped my feet.’
On her way to wash up, she stroked his cheek. ‘Poor Jed Parish.’
‘It left me damaged.’
‘I can see.’
He drove her home. As no subterfuge was necessary, he parked directly outside her house.
Richards opened the door and waved at him.
He ignored her.
***
CI Naylor looked as though he’d been searching through the rubbish in a landfill site. He was unshaven and his usually slicked-back hair was all over the place. The suit had gone; in its place was a pair of filthy crumpled jeans and a worn out old T-shirt with Fuck the Police on the front. He had his dirty trainers on the Chief’s desk and his hands wrapped around a coffee mug.
‘You’re a fucking bastard, Parish.’
‘I’m sorry, Sir, I have no…’
‘I don’t know what you fucking did, but I know it was you. The Chief Constable says I’m a fucking dinosaur. He’s put me on gardening leave before they force me to take early retirement.’
‘I…’
‘Still haven’t fucking learned not to interrupt a senior fucking officer when he’s talking down to you. The only one here that’s worth anything is Ray Kowalski; the rest of you should have joined a fucking knitting circle. Well, don’t fucking worry, Parish – you’ll get yours. I phoned a few mates last night and put the fucking word out on you. One day, when you’re not fucking expecting it, someone will get shot and your fingerprints will be all over the fucking murder weapon. I’ll be dragging you down to hell with me, if it’s the last thing I do. Now, get the fuck out and let me enjoy my coffee in peace.’
Parish left.
Debbie, the Chief’s secretary, smiled at him.
It was the first time he’d seen her smile in days.
***
Parish sat down. He made himself comfortable and then read his briefing: ‘Ladies and gentlemen of the press – thank you for coming this morning.’ There was a strategic advantage in stroking their egos. ‘I’m afraid all I can say is that our investigations are continuing.’
‘Surely you can do better than that, Inspector?’ the shy retiring freckled redhead from the Chigwell Herald said.
‘I’m sorry, Miss…?’
‘Catherine Cox, Inspector, as you well know.’ She puffed herself up to her full height. ‘I’m wise to your strategies of obfuscation. I�
��d like you to tell us all why you have not mentioned the murder weapon and the item the killer puts in the victim’s mouths.’
Miss Cox sat back down, her task complete. Uproar ensued. Who had leaked the information?
Parish held up his hand for quiet.
‘I am sure you are well aware, Miss Cox, that were certain information available in the public domain it would hamper our investigation.’
Catherine Cox stood up again. ‘Don’t think I’ve finished with you yet, Inspector. I understand that you’re afraid of copycat killings, but throughout this investigation you’ve blatantly withheld information, which the reading public had a right to know. For instance, I recall asking you whether you were searching for a serial killer and you made fun of me.’
‘I…’
‘Yesterday you said that the death of Graham Pearson was not related to the deaths of Diane Flint or Martin Squires. Yet, to date, there have been six people who have been murdered by the same man in the same way. Would you like me to name them, Inspector?’
‘That won’t…’
‘I think that if you want the co-operation of the press, you need to stop treating us like fools.’
‘I apologise for…’
‘My sources also tell me that Peter Rushdon has returned from America to meet you. Have you anything to say about that, Inspector?’
People looked around with, ‘Who is Peter Rushdon?’ on their lips.
‘Who are your sources, Miss Cox?’
‘You know I can’t divulge that.’
The only people who knew about his meeting with Peter Rushdon were Richards and Rushdon. It must be Rushdon who had leaked his return to Chigwell.
‘If I may speak, Miss Cox?’ He paused and she sat down.
‘You are quite correct – we are looking for a serial killer, but this killer targets specific individuals and there is no danger to the general public. And yes, I am concerned about copycat killings, so it is accepted practice to… keep certain information out of the public domain to ensure that we can identify a fake when we see it.’