by Tim Ellis
‘The bastards have taken my rucksack as well. That means they’ve more or less got everything we needed to solve the case.’
‘Well, at least Jerry knows where we are?’
Bronwyn snorted like a truffle hog in the forest. ‘She knows we walked through a Coke machine, along a corridor and into a parallel universe?’
‘She knows we were going into AutoMove.’
‘Fat lot of good that’ll do us. We’re not in AutoMove anymore. Fuck knows where we are.’
Kowalski sat down on the floor with his back propped up against the wall, but he decided not to respond.
Bronwyn had other ideas. She was like a dog with a bone. ‘So, is this how it’s gonna be? I thought that with you being a senior police officer you’d have a clue, but that‘s not how it’s turning out, is it?’
‘Oh! So this is my fault? If you recall, I came here to keep you out of trouble.’
‘I feel much better now.’
‘I’ve been following your lead. What’s clear to me now is that you don’t have a clue. I thought that with you living in the grey area between right and wrong you’d be on the ball, but it’s obvious to me now that you don’t even know what the ball looks like never mind where it is, do you?’
Just then, there was the scraping sound of a heavy bolt sliding back.
The door opened.
Kowalski pushed himself up, balled his fists and felt the adrenaline begin to pump through his body.
Two men in suits and ties were standing in the doorway – both were aiming Glock pistols into the room. They weren’t the same men who had been following him in the Mercedes SUV, but they weren’t dissimilar.
‘You,’ one of the men said, pointing to Bronwyn. ‘Come with us.’
‘Fuck off.’
‘Take me instead,’ Kowalski said, walking towards them.
The second man aimed the gun at him. ‘Your turn will come. We want her first.’
‘If you touch her . . .’
‘I don’t think you’re in any position to make threats. You just wait here and we’ll come back for you.’
Bronwyn stood up. ‘It’s all right, Kowalski. Once they get to know me, they’ll wish they’d taken you first. I’m gonna make their lives a living hell.’
‘I can believe that.’ He glared at the man facing him. ‘If you hurt her, I’ll kill you with my bare hands.’
The man’s lip curled up. ‘I’d pay good money to see that.’
‘It’d be money well spent.’
Bronwyn was led out into the corridor and the door banged shut.
The bastards, he thought. Without the guns they’d be chickenshit. He was angry and frustrated at his inability to stop the men taking Bronwyn. All he wanted to do was break some heads. What the hell was going on? Who were these people? How were they involved in the disappearance of Linus Frost? What was the key for? What did all the numbers in the journal represent? Where were they? What was this place? And why was it hiding behind AutoMove?
There were so many questions that needed answers. What the hell were they doing to Bronwyn? He expected that they wanted to know what he and Bronwyn knew. That wouldn’t take long. Would she tell them what she knew? He’d tell them which train station to get off at, and the bastards would have to count themselves lucky to get that.
He wondered if Jerry was worried about him. Had she called anyone? Who would she call? Probably Jed and Mary. How embarrassing would that be? His first case and he needed to be rescued. Maybe he was getting too old for this malarkey. Maybe he should recognise the limitations of a forty-two year-old heart-attack survivor and hang up his deerstalker.
As he was pacing the width of the room the light and the camera eye went out.
***
‘You’ve postponed the press briefing?’ Parish said.
‘Yes, until eleven o’clock. But that’s not the question you really want to ask, is it?’
It was six-thirty.
They’d received a call from central despatch at six and were now on their way to King George Hospital in the Skoda. The heating was probably working at five percent efficiency and it felt as though they were sitting inside an igloo. They could see their own breath, which was never a good sign.
He’d got up early – five o’clock – and put on his tracksuit, trainers, woolly hat and gloves. Digby had immediately slithered under the quilt into his warm. The ground was a bit treacherous, but it was all in a good cause. He’d received word in the mail that his Charity Entry for the London Marathon on 24 April had been accepted. He would be raising money for the Essex Police Benevolent Fund, and he needed all the practice he could get if he was going to complete the twenty-six miles without embarrassing himself. It certainly wasn’t anything to do with what Angie had said about him being flabby, but the training would help with that he was sure. Richards’ entry had also been accepted – he’d give her the good news later.
‘Five minutes . . . You’ve known him five minutes.’
‘More like – three hours. And I know when I like someone.’
Abel Winter had eaten dinner with them. Afterwards, Richards had taken him into the front room to discuss the Essex Crime Statistics, or that was what they were meant to be doing. It wasn’t until later, when he’d stuck his head round the door to tell Richards that he and Angie were off to bed, that he’d found them wrestling on the sofa. Mr Winter had jerked upright as if he’d been caught with his hand in the cookie jar, said that he was just leaving and edged out of the room past a disgruntled Parish.
‘And because you think you like him, you thought you’d let him lick your tonsils.’
‘We kissed.’
‘From what I saw, he was doing a good impression of a starving anaconda and I’m guessing he would have swallowed you whole if I hadn’t come in. It’s entirely possible that I saved your life last night.’
Richards laughed. ‘My lips are really sore.’
‘And did I see his hand doing a forensic examination of the figure under your t-shirt?’
‘You can be so disgusting.’
‘I thought so. You planned it. That’s why you didn’t have a bra on, isn’t it?’
‘Don’t be ridiculous. How would I know I’d like him?’
‘That’s a very good question, Little Miss Honey Trap. Did Toadstone tell you Winter’s name before he arrived?’
‘No.’
‘Liar! That’s exactly what happened, isn’t it? You googled him, saw that he wasn’t a Neanderthal, thought that maybe this was the ideal opportunity for you to grab yourself a man from the rapidly declining gene pool, and discarded your bra accordingly in preparation for the ethically dubious entrapment.’
‘All’s fair in love and war. And I’m not getting any younger.’
‘You’re nearly twenty-three.’
‘Exactly my point. I’ll be as old and decrepit as you soon, and then what will my chances be like?’
‘I’ll have to interview him.’
‘You will not.’
‘But first, I’ll feed his name into CrimInt and see what comes back.’
‘You can’t.’
‘I can and I will. I want to know everything about him before . . .’
‘Before what?’
‘. . . Before things get serious.’
‘You’re going to ruin it for me, aren’t you?’
‘I thought you said men were all serial killers?’
‘Maybe I was a bit hasty.’
‘I’m not so sure. You know all too well that we have a preponderance of serial killers in Essex. He could be one of them. And you also know that a serial killer looks just like you and me. Let me draw you a picture. Toadstone phoned him, told him who you were and what you wanted. He googled you, saw that you matched his victim profile, began sharpening his instruments, and planning how he was going to dismember you and dispose of the bloody remains.’
‘You’re crazy.’
‘Me! You’re the one who wants to get involved with
a man you know nothing about.’
‘I know he’s handsome and a good kisser . . .’
‘So was Ted Bundy.’
‘I know he has a decent body . . .’
‘So did Andrei Chikatilo.’
‘I know he has a good job . . .’
‘Glennon Engleman was a dentist, but it didn’t stop him killing at least seven people in his spare time.’
‘You just want me to die alone.’
‘And you want to hook up with the first serial killer who gives you the glad-eye.’
‘Well, I’m seeing him again.’
‘And I’ll check him out.’
‘I hate you.’
‘No you don’t. Apart from your mother, I’m the best person you know.’
‘You wish.’
‘And, apart from your mother, you’re the best person I know.’
‘Really?’
‘Yes . . . Well, after Digby, Kowalski, Toadstone . . .’
‘Digby isn’t a person and . . .’
‘For goodness sake don’t let him hear you say that – he’ll be devastated.’
‘I’ll never live happily ever after, will I?’
‘Happiness is a vastly overrated concept. What did Don Juan have to say about the Crime Statistics?’
‘He said that something didn’t add up, but he’d take them away and examine them properly.’
‘You mean last night he was too busy examining your figure to examine the Essex crime figures?’
‘I’m not going to slosh about in the sewer with you.’
‘He came into our house under false pretences. I’ve a good mind to . . .’
‘You will not. Did you enjoy your run this morning.’
‘It was very bracing, thank you.’
‘I’m glad.’
‘I’m glad you’re glad, because tomorrow you’ll be joining me.’
‘In your dreams, Mr Flabby.’
‘A letter came for me in the post.’
‘I’m very pleased for you. Don’t tell me, you’ve been accepted by Weightwatchers?’
‘We’ve both been accepted . . .’
‘I hope you’re not suggesting I’m anything other than my ideal weight.’
‘It may be an ideal weight for watching the Crime Channel and sleeping, but you’re a bit on the chubby side if you want to run the London Marathon in April.’
‘Oh God! We’ve been accepted?’
‘That’s what I said. And please watch where you’re going. Crashing this bucket of bolts won’t solve anything.’
‘Oh God! I can’t run one mile never mind twenty-six of them.’
‘You will. And you’d better start wearing a sports bra as well.’
‘You always have to drag the conversation down into the gutter, don’t you?’
‘I’m simply being practical.’
‘Well, you don’t need to be practical on my behalf, I know how to dress myself, thank you.’
‘Not according to what I saw last night.’
‘What about you?’
‘What about me?’
‘You were looking through those two boxes.’
‘Which I did. A bit of a sloppy investigation, but it’s easy to say that after the fact. I found nothing that appeared to have any bearing on our current investigation.’
Richards parked in the car park at King George Hospital and they made their way in through the main entrance and down to the Mortuary.
A uniformed officer was standing outside the door with a clip board recording names on a sheet of paper.
They donned the forensic garb and made their way inside.
Doc Riley was waiting for them.
‘Any luck?’ Parish said to her.
She shook her head. ‘No. Adam Weeks’ body has gone.’
‘TOADSTONE?’
‘Yes, Sir?’
‘The secret of getting things done is to act.’
‘One of Dante Alighieri’s many quotes.’
‘What’s going on?’
‘We have the CCTV footage from three o’clock this morning. Two men in black coveralls and Disney masks came in, removed Adam Weeks’ body from the freezer, put it into a body bag on a gurney, wheeled it to the roller door where ambulances usually deliver the corpses and slid it into the back of a white van with the number plates obscured. They then returned to the laboratory where they not only removed everything relating to Adam Weeks’ post mortem, but also hacked into the computer network and introduced a virus before they left. We’re checking CCTV footage in the local area, but these people seemed to know what they were doing, so I’m not overly optimistic.’
‘A pessimist is one who makes difficulties for his opportunities and an optimist is one who makes opportunities of his difficulties.’
‘Harry S Truman said that.’
Richards grunted. ‘That’s twice he’s beaten you.’
‘He plucks names out of the air, Richards.’
‘Which happen to be the right names.’
He stared at the head of forensics. ‘I want you to make opportunities, Toadstone. Find me something I can use.’
‘I’ll try, Sir. In the meantime, you might be interested in this.’ He signalled a woman over with a tablet. ‘Okay. Run it again, Sylvie.’
They watched as two men wearing Goofy and Donald Duck masks appeared in the mortuary and took Adam Weeks’ body away just as Toadstone described it.
‘What am I looking for, Toadstone?’
‘I know,’ Richards said. ‘They go straight to the body. They’re not looking for Adam Weeks, they already know where he is.’
Sylvie ran the footage again.
They watched as one of the men went directly to the third door along the bank of eight freezers, opened it and pulled out the second shelf down.
‘Well done, Richards,’ Parish said. ‘And you, Toadstone.’
‘I’d like to take the credit, but it was Sylvie who spotted it.’
‘Well spotted, Sylvie.’
‘Thanks, Sir.’
‘Okay, now that we’re all bona fide members of the mutual appreciation society,’ Parish said. ‘What does it mean for our investigation?’
Doc Riley said, ‘They didn’t get everything.’
‘Oh?’
She put her hand in the pocket of the blue scrub trousers she was wearing, brought it out again and opened it up. On her palm sat a memory stick. ‘I always take a back-up of my post mortem findings because, having lost computer records before, I’m not a great believer in the omnipotence of technology.’
‘That’s good to hear, Doc.’
‘I think those men were trying to prevent me from finding out that the barcode is functional . . .’
‘Meaning?’
‘Once we enlarged it under an electron microscope to a size that could be recognised by a barcode reader, we discovered a product number.’
‘Go on?’
‘Can I suggest that, although lunch seems to be off the table, we replace it with breakfast? We have things to talk about, and instead of standing here getting in Doctor Toadstone’s way, we could be sitting down eating breakfast and drinking tea.’
Parish licked his lips. ‘Now that’s an intriguing idea. A cooked breakfast for breakfast. I can’t remember the last time I had a full English for breakfast.’
‘That would have been Saturday at Chelmsford. Mum said she’d divorce you if you ordered it, but you ordered it anyway.’
‘I didn’t realise it was that long ago. And I only ordered the breakfast because I knew she didn’t mean it.’
‘A likely story.’
‘I’ll just print off my draft report from a standalone computer and printer, make a copy of this memory stick and then I’ll be with you.’
As Doc Riley wandered off Parish said to Toadstone, ‘It was either an inside job, or someone here passed the necessary information along to a third party. I want to know who knew where Doc Riley had put Adam Weeks’ body, Toadstone.’
‘. . . Overly optimistic?’
‘Exactly. There are a lot of people in the hospital who have access to the Mortuary . . .’
‘Don’t think that I haven’t noticed how you forewarn me of failure right from the start by listing the obstacles to success . . .’
‘I’ll try my best, Sir.’
‘That’s all anyone could ask for, Toadstone. Just as long as your best produces the desired result.’
Once Doc Riley returned, they made their way up the stairs to the hospital restaurant.
Chapter Twelve
Joe and Shakin’ hurried along the corridor. Shakin’ went first because he had the crowbar, which could be used as a weapon if the worst came to the worst.
‘See anything yet, Shakin’?’
‘Not a thing.’
They kept going. It was a long corridor, which they guessed must have led to a completely different building.
‘I hear footsteps coming this way,’ Shakin’ said.
‘They mustn’t know that you said it’d take them five minutes to get here.’
‘No respect for time some people.’
‘What now?’
‘There’s a door here, Joe.’
‘It has a pretty substantial bolt keeping it closed. I’m a bit worried about what we might find inside.’
‘You mean like a tyrannosaurus rex?’
‘Something along those lines.’
‘Beggars can’t be choosers. It’s either the tyrannosaurus rex we know, or the running footsteps coming towards us that we don’t know?’
‘Open the door, Shakin’.’
Shakin’ slid the bolt back and pushed the door open enough so that both of them could edge through the gap. They closed the door behind them, put their ears against the smooth metal and listened to the thump of running feet go past.
‘That was close,’ Joe said.
‘Sure was.’
‘There must be a logical reason why you two clowns are hiding in here?’ Kowalski said. ‘But for the life of me I can’t think what it is.’
Shakin’ and Joe jumped, turned round and switched their torches on.
‘Fucking Jesus, Mr K,’ Joe said. ‘We nearly died of fright right here on the spot.’