by Ellis, Tim
‘You’ll get a commendation.’
‘No thanks.’
‘Some officers would kill for a commendation.’
‘I’m leaving.’
‘Leaving where.’
‘Leaving the force. This is my last case.’
‘That would be a waste, Sergeant Gilbert.’
‘There are others coming up behind me, I’m in the way now.’
‘I doubt that.’
‘I have someone to see first, but can we meet somewhere so that I can give you the evidence?’
‘I’m still at the house. It looks like we’re going to be here for a while. Human remains of both adult females and children have been found.’
‘It doesn’t surprise me.’
‘No. Once we discovered what they were doing, I can’t say it was totally unexpected.’
They arranged to meet at the Green Man pub in Stapleford Tawney at six o’clock – it was on his way home.
He left 12 Old Ferry Road and went next door to see Sharon Williams.
‘I was just about to phone you,’ she said.
‘No need – here I am.’
‘And you’re going to tell me the end of the story.’
‘As promised.’
He told her everything. Yes, it was an active investigation, but he didn’t care – they could sack him if they wanted to.
Before he set off to the Green Man pub he phoned Xena.
‘By rights I should ignore you,’ she chastised him.
‘I have a hundred and thirty five messages on my phone. Do you know how long it’s going to take me to delete that many messages?’
‘I had time on my hands.’
‘I never would have guessed.’
‘And it’s your own fault for switching your phone off, which I might add, is against regulations.’
‘So report me.’
‘Are you coming in to see me tonight?’
‘No.’
‘No?’
‘I’m too tired.’
‘That’s your excuse?’
‘Yes.’
‘I’m being dragged into hell by Lucifer’s cloven hoof and you’re too tired?’
‘More like the other way round.’
‘You haven’t resigned yet, have you?’
‘Do you want to know what I discovered at the bank?’
‘Let’s not ignore one question before we get to another one.’
‘No, I haven’t resigned yet – tomorrow.’
‘I forbid you to resign while I’m lying in a hospital bed and unable to stop you.’
‘It wouldn’t make any difference if you were tap-dancing on the Chief’s desk.’
‘If I’m not mistaken you have to submit any letters of resignation to your superior officer.’
‘You’re off sick, so that would be the Chief.’
‘Stop being a numpty. You’re not really going to resign, are you?’
‘Yes.’
‘Can’t you think about it first, so that I have time to prepare a defence – for me?’
‘This is why I had my phone switched off. You’re trying to wear me down and make me change my mind.’
‘I didn’t think you’d notice. Am I succeeding?’
‘No.’ He told her nearly everything that had happened on his journey to finding the evidence in the puzzle box, but he left out the bit about forgetting the safety-deposit box key.
‘Does Jennifer know?’
‘About the evidence?’
‘About you resigning, numpty?’
‘Not yet. I plan to tell her tonight.’
‘What’s her phone number?’
‘I don’t think so.’
‘I’ll find out.’
‘I’ve made up my mind.’
‘No you haven’t. You’re just waiting for me to convince you that you’re needed.’
‘By whom?’
‘I’m sure there are lots of people who need you.’
‘Name one?’
‘Those children needed you?’
‘And they got me. Now, I’m resigning.’
‘There’ll be other children.’
‘And other detectives.’
‘All right – I need you. Is that what you wanted to hear?’
‘It’s nice of you to say so, but I’m still resigning.’
‘You made me say it, and you’re still going to resign?’
‘Yes.’
The call ended.
Aftermath
He arrived at King George Hospital just behind the ambulance. As the paramedics hurried PCSO Michaela Mundy through the plastic swing doors and into the Accident & Emergency treatment area, he went to the reception and told the tired-looking woman who they had.
‘What about you?’ she asked.
‘Me?’
‘Why does everyone have to be so dense? Yes, you.’ She pointed at the blood-soaked bandage. ‘You look as though you could do with some medical attention.’
‘Yes, I suppose I’d better have someone take a look at it.’
‘There’s a four-hour wait, you know.’
‘Four hours?’
‘Four hours.’ She pointed to an LED display: WAITING TIME – FOUR HOURS.
‘Is that really four hours, or could it be three hours fifty-five, or maybe . . .?’
‘Please take a seat.’
‘Any chance of a gurney in a corridor somewhere?’
She yawned.
No sooner had he sat down next to a woman with an infected neck tattoo of a snake than Angie appeared in front of him.
‘I might have known,’ he said.
‘Mary phoned me.’
‘Of course she did. Well, rumours of my demise have been greatly exaggerated.’
‘You’re bleeding.’
‘A scratch.’
She took his right arm and helped him up like an invalid. ‘Come on, I’ll take a look at it.’
‘You just want to take my clothes off.’
‘You wish.’
‘Hey!’ An old woman shouted. ‘Isn’t there a four-hour queue?’
‘Police,’ he said over his shoulder. ‘We get preferential treatment.’
‘You’ll start a riot.’
‘You’re lucky, I’ve been riot-trained.’
She took him through into the treatment area and deposited him in an empty cubicle.
‘Why is there a four-hour wait when you’ve got empty cubicles?’
‘Staffing levels. Each shift is a skeleton shift if we’re lucky. You complain about the number of police officers you’ve got – you want to try working here.’
She ducked out through the curtain and came back with a trolley full of bottles and dressings. ‘Right,’ she said cutting off the bloody bandage the paramedic had applied. ‘Let’s see what you’ve done to yourself.’
‘It was a sawn-off shotgun, actually.’ He pulled his arm away. ‘Can you find out how the female officer they brought in is?’
‘Taken to theatre already. She’s in a bad way.’
‘Yeah – I was lucky. An inch to the right and it would have been me.’
‘I’m sorry for her, but I’m glad for you – and for me.’
‘I know you don’t want to hear this, but if I‘d known in advance what was going to happen I would have stood in front of her.’
‘Of course you would – that’s the man I married, but you didn’t know in advance.’
She began picking out the lead pellets from his arm with a pair of tweezers.
He grimaced. ‘Have the hospital run out of painkillers as well?’
‘Stop being a baby. Have you heard about Jerry?’
‘No – what?’
‘Ray found her.’
‘That’s great news.’
‘She’s in a bad way, as well.’
‘In what way?’
‘She’s been beaten and tortured – she’s a mess.’
‘Jesus! What the hell for?’
Angie shrugged. ‘T
hey’ve taken her up to Foxglove Ward.’
‘Is that the medical ward?’
‘The psychiatric ward.’
‘Why?’
‘I was talking to some of the nurses to find out what was going on – her mind has been affected.’
‘Temporarily – right?’
‘Who knows. The mind is a funny thing.’
‘Did you get that from one of your medical textbooks?’
‘Ray looks as though he’s at the end of his rope, as well.’
‘I’ll go up and see him. Have you finished yet?’
‘Yes, of course – come back when your arm turns black and you can’t stand the smell, I’ll arrange for a cleaner to amputate it from the neck up.’
‘I bet you say that to all the men.’
‘Only the stupid ones.’
Once she’d finished, he kissed her goodbye and made his way up to Foxglove Ward. The door was locked, and he wondered whether it was to stop people getting in or out.
He pressed the buzzer and spoke into the receiver.
After a question and answer session, and showing his warrant card to the CCTV camera above the door, someone buzzed him in.
He found Ray and Jerry’s parents sitting in a room around a bed with a woman in that might have been Jerry, but he wasn’t sure. He put his hand on Ray’s shoulder and squeezed.
‘Thanks for coming, Jed,’ Kowalski said.
‘I was passing.’ He shook hands with Bert and Matilda. ‘What’s the news?’
Ray grunted. ‘Hurry up waiting. They’ve sedated her, and now we have to coax her out of the hiding place inside her mind.’
‘She’s strong, Ray. If anyone can get through this, it’ll be Jerry.’
Bert nodded. ‘That’s what I said.’
Jed could see Bert was barely holding it together.
Ray glanced at his arm. ‘What’s happened to you?’
‘Sawn-off shotgun.’ He told him what had happened.
‘I don’t know, I take a day off and you get yourself shot. It’s a good job Richards wasn’t with you.’
‘Yes, but I shouldn’t think the PCSO who was with me thinks that.’
‘No.’
‘Listen, if there’s anything Angie and I can do – just say the word. You were there for me when I needed you, and now it’s my turn to step up.’
‘Thanks, Jed. If there is anything, I’ll let you know.’
He left them to their vigil and went to find out about PCSO Mundy.
She was still in theatre, and he realised in all the furore that he hadn’t even informed Sergeant Whitton at Tilbury Police Station.
He called.
‘That’s not really what I meant when I said don’t bring her back, Sir?’
‘I know. I blame myself. I should have been more cautious.’
‘She is going to be all right, isn’t she?’
‘To be honest, I don’t know. I’m waiting to find out.’
‘You’ll ring me when you know anything.’
‘Of course.’
She gave him her mobile number and he wrote it down in his notebook.
‘I was thinking,’ he said. ‘She kept talking about her friend Cheryl . . .’
‘No such person.’
‘I’m sorry?’
‘Unknown to me, but one of the lads checked her out a while ago. She looks after her dad who’s had a stroke. She has no friends, no boyfriends . . . In fact, it’s a bit sad, Sir.’
‘And there’s no one called Cheryl?’
‘No.’
‘But . . .’ He didn’t know what else to say. ‘She won’t be going home anytime soon. Can you contact Social Services. If her dad needs looking after and he’s in the house on his own . . .’
‘Leave it with me, Sir. I’ll get something organised.’
‘Thanks. Also, if she has no one else, then she’ll need a friend if she pulls through this. Someone to bring her toothbrush, pyjamas and such like . . .’
‘Yes, I suppose you’re right. It’s asking a lot, Sir, but I’ll see what I can arrange.’
‘She’s one of us, Whitton.’
‘I know.’
‘In the meantime, I’ll wait here and find out what’s happening to her. If there’s any change in the situation I’ll let you know.’
***
Thursday, April 19
They’d wrapped everything up and passed it all to CEOP. He was shaking hands with a hung-over Lily Gold – who was just about to start heading back to Norwich – when Richards rang.
‘We’ve found him.’
‘You say it as if you’re pleased with yourself.’
‘I am.’
‘And?’
‘His name is Paul Busey. They prevented him from seeing his two children a year ago. He’s been in prison since then, but he just got out on licence. I was . . .’
‘No you weren’t.’
‘We could . . .’
‘I don’t think so. You have a plastic boot on your foot, and my arm is in a sling. Neither of us is going anywhere. Ring Inspector Threadneedle and ask her to send a meatwagon with a couple of armed officers to pick him up.’
‘Do I have to? I hate ringing her. She always makes me feel like . . . like a slave.’
‘You’d like me to ring her instead?’
‘Would you?’
‘No. And when you’ve done that, get your fat arse back here – we have a lot of reports to write before we begin interviewing Mr Busey.’
‘Did I tell you I’ve found out about the European Court of Human Rights.’
‘Is that so?’
‘Yes, that’s so. And you’re in serious trouble.’
He burst out laughing. ‘Have you phoned Inspector Threadneedle yet?’
‘I . . .’
He ended the call.
Lily Gold left.
He began typing up his report, but it was difficult with only one hand.
His phone vibrated.
‘Parish?’
‘It’s Günter Kappel.’
‘I’d given up on you.’
‘Breaking original unbroken enciphered four rotor Enigma M4 messages using distributed computing is a bit hit and miss.’
‘You found nothing?’
‘That’s not strictly true.’
‘Oh?’
‘We should meet.’
‘Just tell me.’
‘Have you ever heard of SS Hauptsturmführer Josef Mengele?’
‘Of course.’
‘The documents refer to the transportation of genetic material belonging to him . . .’
‘That’s preposterous.’
‘And yet, that’s what the Enigma decryption found. There were five samples of Mengele’s sperm, and . . . it was transported to England.’
Jesus! Could it be true? Was he really Josef Mengele’s son? Orvil Lorenz’s Epsilon experiments made sense now.
‘Listen carefully, Kappel. I want you to destroy everything you have . . . everything – do you understand?’
‘But . . .’
‘Who do the documents belong to?’
‘Well – you.’
‘Exactly. Now, I imagine you’re thinking about the historical importance of these documents . . .’
‘Yes . . .’
‘If you keep copies, or your friends keep copies, I’ll make sure you spend the rest of your lives in prison for murder. Do you understand?’
‘I understand.’
‘Make sure you do, Kappel.’
He ended the call.
‘Who was that?’ Richards asked as she hobbled along the corridor towards him.
‘Wrong number.’
‘On your mobile?’
‘Uh uh.’
‘You know I’ll find out.’
‘Anyway, it’s about time you got here.’
‘Oh! Why’s that?’
‘I need a coffee.’
***
Friday, April 20
Ade Powell rushed into Br
ightmore’s office at seven-thirty. ‘We’ve got her, Sir. She just tried to ring her friend in Group323.’
‘About time. Where?’
‘Chigwell.’
‘Notify the team. We leave in ten minutes.’
‘Will do.’
Yes, it was about time. Everyone thought they’d lost her. He smiled. Patience brings its own rewards.
This time – there would be no mistakes. He’d make sure of that. If his people dropped the ball – it would be the last thing they did. Why should he have to pay for their mistakes? They were all grown-ups, they could pay for their own.
After this, he’d be able to go to Völker and say, “Job done.” He knew she thought he was an idiot – well, he’d show her.
They arrived outside the four-bedroom house in the leafy suburb of Chigwell.
So, this was where she’d been hiding.
Not for much longer.
They piled out of the black van.
‘You know what to do,’ he said. ‘No witnesses.’
They nodded.
He led from the rear.
Willie Braidwood yomped up the path.
The door opened and an armed police officer stood there. ‘Armed police. Drop your weapons.’
A trap! It was a fucking trap. Ruth Völker’s smug face jumped into his head.
More armed police appeared..
Where the fuck had they come from?
His team looked at him.
‘Let’s go out in a hail of bullets,’ Hell Fitzgerald said. ‘Like Bonnie and Clyde – which of you pussies wants to be Bonnie?’
Crazy bitch, he thought.
‘Drop your weapons,’ he said. They were government agents for fuck’s sake. They were here for legitimate reasons. He’d talk his way out of this mess. It was all a big misunderstanding.
The police moved in and disarmed them, made them lie in the street and restrained them like animals.
‘There’s been a big mistake,’ he said.
The woman they knew as Cookie appeared and crouched down to speak to him. ‘Yes, by you murdering bastards.’
The press appeared, took photographs and shouted questions at him. The television cameras were rolling.
Cookie was giving an interview and handing out memory sticks like chocolate bars to the dozens of press that were crowded round. ‘Top secret government files,’ she cried like someone on a market stall. ‘Get your top secret government files here. Only twenty-four hours before they go viral on the Internet. Get your top secret . . .’