Evidence of Things Not Seen: (Parish & Richards 18)

by Tim Ellis

  He lifted the bag up from where he’d put it at the side of the bed.

  She took it from him and emptied it out. ‘You got everything back then?’

  ‘When we’ve got five minutes I’ll tell you what happened.’ He helped himself to his keys, wallet and all his other personal belongings.

  Bronwyn opened up her laptop and performed an internet search for “human micro-chips”. ‘Radio Frequency Identification tags they’re called,’ she said, reading from the screen. ‘They use them to track cattle, consumer products and pets . . . The bastards have turned me into a piece of meat.’

  Kowalski licked his lips. ‘A steak would be good about now. I feel as though I haven’t eaten for a month.’

  ‘This is not funny, Kowalski.’

  ‘Do you see me laughing? I’m starving. If it is a tracking device, then we need to turn it off before whoever’s behind it gets their power back on and pays us a visit.’

  ‘Let me read . . .’

  He paced around the room and wondered what the two toy boys were doing. He ought to phone Jerry and let her know that he was all right. Also, he supposed he’d better show some gratitude and thank her for sending them as back-up. If he was being honest, he felt embarrassed at the idea of being saved by a couple of spotty university students. His first case as a private investigator and he walks into trouble. Maybe he should just retire, put his feet up and take up painting or something just as adventurous.

  ‘Tin foil,’ Bronwyn said, and hurried out of the room.

  He wandered onto the landing and saw Joe at the bottom of the stairs. ‘Is the other clown not back yet?’ he called down.

  ‘Haven’t seen him, Mr K.’

  He heard grunting noises coming from one of the other rooms. ‘I think I might know where he is.’

  ‘Oh?’

  ‘Is that young woman down there?’

  ‘Nope. She seems to have . . . I hope you’re not saying what I think you’re saying?’

  ‘There’s a lot of strange noises coming from one of the rooms up here.’

  Joe took the stairs two at a time. ‘I can’t believe I let you talk me out of making out with her, Mr K. Now Shakin’ has got there before me like he always does.’ He strode along the landing to the room and threw the door open. ‘I’ve been waiting downstairs for you to come back, Shakin’.’

  Kowalski didn’t hear the answer because the door closed.

  Bronwyn returned with a screwed-up piece of tin foil. ‘Those crazy people who wear tin foil hats on their heads obviously know a thing or two,’ she said, holding up the tin foil. ‘It stops the radio signals getting through, so they won’t be able to find us. And if we want to disable it completely all we have to do is cook it in the microwave.’

  ‘That’s solved that problem then.’

  ‘Where are those two perverts hiding?’

  ‘I have a feeling they’re keeping the young woman called Poo occupied.’

  ‘Both of them?’

  He shrugged.

  ‘She’ll enjoy that. She likes a lot of occupying.’

  ‘The question is – what are we going to do now? Our visit to AutoMove wasn’t very successful, was it?’

  ‘No, not really.’

  ‘In fact, if Jerry hadn’t sent those two clowns to back us up, it could have been a disaster.’

  ‘I know.’

  ***

  ‘I can’t believe Hefferbitch committed suicide, Stick.’

  ‘I know. I feel really sad.’

  They’d replaced the wellies that they’d put on for searching along the river tow path with their shoes from the boot and were now sitting in Stick’s car.

  Xena shook her head. ‘What a waste.’

  ‘A waste?’

  ‘She was a good forensic officer.’

  ‘I’m sorry?’

  ‘You think that because I called her a useless bitch all the time I didn’t think she was good at her job?’

  ‘That’s certainly been my impression over the last couple of years.’

  ‘Well, you’re wrong. That was just my way of being friendly. She was one of the best forensic officers I’ve had the pleasure of working with.’

  ‘I feel as though I’m in a parallel universe.’

  ‘You should see the police doctor about that. Right, who are we going to annoy now?’

  Stick took out his notebook and flicked through the pages. ‘We have to go and see Doc Paine at midday to get the post mortem report and a photograph of the dead woman. We also said we’d pick up Valerie Tyndall and her mother at two-fifteen from Roydon train station so that we can question them about who had access to the spare key and was familiar with the CCTV system . . .’

  ‘Those are for later. What about now?’

  ‘We still need to visit the company who installed the Tyndall’s security system – Swann Security International in Harlow . . .’

  ‘I try not to go to Harlow if I can help it.’

  ‘And then there’s the body painting company – CHROMATIC – on the Isle of Dogs

  ‘Have you ever been there?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘Why is it called the Isle of Dogs? Is it an island with dogs on it? I only ask that, because Rabbit Island in Japan has thousands of feral rabbits roaming wild.’

  ‘I shouldn’t think so.’

  ‘I thought you’d never been there.’

  ‘I haven’t.’

  ‘Then you don’t really know, do you?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘And yet you’re pontificating about something you know nothing about.’

  ‘Sorry.’

  ‘Let’s go to the Isle of Dogs first and then we’ll go to Harlow on our way to see Doc Paine.’

  ‘Harlow is on our way to the train station. It’s not on our way to the hospital.’

  ‘What are you saying?’

  ‘It would save us time if we went to Harlow first, and then to the Isle of Dogs.’

  ‘I see. So, if you’d already made up your mind, why are you asking me where we should go?’

  ‘I wasn’t – you asked me.’

  ‘This is you in that parallel universe, isn’t it? Just get going, numpty.’

  ‘To Harlow?’

  ‘Have I got a choice?’ She reclined the seat. ‘Wake me up when we get there.’

  ‘Okay.’

  ‘And put the heating on – my feet are like blocks of ice in the arctic.’

  ‘Done.’

  ‘I don’t suppose you’ve got a duvet handy, have you?’

  ‘There’s a blanket on the back seat.’

  ‘Can you pass it to me?’

  ‘Of course.’ He reached behind him, grabbed the blanket and dropped it on her midriff.

  ‘It would be good if you had a quilt on the back seat in future,’ she said as she opened up the blanket and covered herself over with it.

  ‘I’ll see what . . .’

  ‘A twelve tog-rating would be good. One with sheep jumping over a fence on the quilt cover.’

  ‘Okay.’

  ‘And don’t forget the pillow – I like a natural fill pillow.’

  ‘Understood.’

  ‘Your driving is getting better.’

  ‘I haven’t set off yet.’

  ‘Sometimes I wonder about you. Get your head out of that parallel universe.’

  ***

  ‘Well, well, well,’ Kat Wagner said as they entered Criminal Ink on the High Street in Hoddesdon. ‘I thought I’d see you again Mary, but him . . .’

  There was a window of opportunity before they needed to brief the new Chief and then the press. So, against his better judgement, he’d been persuaded by Richards to drop in to pick the tattooist’s brain again.

  ‘Him has a name, Miss Wagner,’ he said.

  Richards laughed. ‘Take no notice of him. We have more questions for you.’

  ‘I should start charging the police a consultation fee.’

  ‘We can’t afford it,’ Parish said. ‘Come on
Richards, let’s go. We’ll get no sense out of her.’

  ‘Sense! You should have said. I thought you wanted information on tattoos. Sense will cost you a lot more than you’re paying now . . . What do you want to know, Mary?’

  ‘How long does it take to complete a tattoo?’

  ‘That varies on the size, placement, colour and complexity of the tattoo. For example, a small simple quarter-size tattoo might take an hour, whereas a large backpiece could take up to ten hours. Colour tattoos usually take longer than black or grey tattoos. The more intricate the tattoo the longer it will take to complete. It also depends on your pain tolerance, and where you have the tattoo – some locations are more painful than others.’

  ‘You remember I told you that the barcode I showed you yesterday was tattooed on a ten year-old boy?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Well, we’ve since found out that it was put on the underside of his top lip just days after he was born . . .’

  ‘No way?’

  ‘A forensic pathologist dated the tattoo through the chemical date tag incorporated in the ink, and also through the process of microscopy and staining to age the damage the original needle marks made in the skin. We also discovered that once the tattoo had been enlarged, and we ran it through a barcode reader, it was a functioning UPC barcode consisting of twelve numbers, which makes it . . .’

  ‘. . . A pretty long barcode?’

  ‘Yes, but we don’t have the computer software to identify what the product number represents.’

  ‘I can’t help you there. My speciality is tattooing, not barcodes.’

  Richards shrugged. ‘We’re also assuming the baby was anaesthetised while it was being done.’

  ‘He’d have to be. A baby wouldn’t lie still while he was being tattooed, even if it was a microscopic tattoo to fit onto the inside of a baby’s lip.’

  ‘What we’d like to know is how is it possible to tattoo something that small onto the inside of a newborn baby’s lip?’

  ‘Well, I don’t know for certain, but here’s a scenario: First, a barcode would have to be generated, which is easily done online . . .’ She went to her computer, found a site on the internet and said, ‘What was the number?’

  Richards found the number in her notebook and read it out, ‘701342159863.’

  Kat keyed it in, generated the barcode on screen, printed it out and passed it to Richards. ‘One barcode.’

  ‘That was simple.’

  ‘And here’s something else . . .’ Kat went back to the computer, clicked on the barcode, reduced the image to a size she could hardly see and printed that out. ‘One miniaturised barcode that could fit under a baby’s lip, and which still retains the dimensions of the original barcode. Once the baby was anaesthetised the lip would be pulled up and back using a pair of forceps; the tattooist could wear a head-mounted spotlight and magnifying glass, and copy the barcode onto the underside of the lip – I guess it would take about thirty minutes . . .’

  ‘That quick?’

  ‘Quicker with practice.’

  ‘Okay, but what about the pain?’

  ‘As you said, the baby would be anaesthetised during the tattoo. Afterwards, there’d be some minor discomfort, maybe some stinging for a couple of days, but applying an anaesthetic cream or gel would easily solve that problem.’

  ‘And swelling?’

  ‘Minor swelling for a few days. The anaesthetic gel and applying cold presses would help to reduce the swelling.’

  Richards glanced at Parish who was standing by the door. ‘Anything else, Sir?’

  ‘No.’

  Kat’s lip curled up. ‘I bet he’s a riot to work with?’

  ‘Oh, you bet. Sometimes, when there’s a full moon, I see him smile.’

  ‘So, let’s talk about your tattoo, Mary . . .’

  Parish opened the door. ‘Richards! Tattoos are for teenagers, and you haven’t been one of those for a few years now – let’s go.’

  ‘I’ll come and talk to you when I have a bit more time,’ Richards said. ‘But thanks very much for the information, you’ve been very helpful.’

  ‘Richards!’

  Kat threw Parish a look. ‘It was my pleasure, but maybe you should come on your own next time.’

  ‘Maybe I will.’

  ‘When you’re ready, Richards.’

  ‘I’m coming.’

  ‘Bye, DI Parish,’ Kat called to him.

  ‘Huh!’ He pushed Richards out and shut the door.

  They climbed into the car.

  ‘She was very helpful,’ Richards said.

  ‘Only because she wants to get you onto that table and give you a whole-body tattoo.’

  Richards laughed. ‘As if. What she really wants is to get you onto her tattoo table, and not for tattoos either.’

  Parish looked at her. ‘Drive Richards, and stop dabbling in the black arts of fantasy.’

  Chapter Fifteen

  Stick followed the A120 and M11 to Harlow. It took him just over an hour to reach Swann Security International who had their main office at 54 Maddox Road.

  ‘We’re here.’

  ‘At Swann?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘My back’s killing me.’

  ‘Car seats aren’t designed for sleeping on.’

  ‘You’re the least helpful person I know.’

  ‘Thank you.’

  ‘You’re welcome.’

  They made their way into the reception through a glass and aluminium swing door.

  ‘Hello?’ the middle-aged receptionist said.

  Xena showed her warrant card. ‘DI Blake and DS Gilbert from Hoddesdon Police Station. We’d like to see the person in charge.’

  ‘Mr Soames is in Algeria at the moment.’

  ‘He’s not in charge now though, is he?’

  ‘Well yes, he’s still in charge, but Mrs Kelly is in charge here while he’s away.’

  ‘Which is the person I want to speak to.’

  ‘I’ll see if she’s available.’

  ‘Did I say I was a Detective Inspector?’

  ‘You did.’

  ‘Good. Tell her to make herself available.’

  The woman pulled a face, picked up a phone and dialled an internal number. ‘Hello, Mrs Kelly . . . There are two police officers here who wish to see you now . . . I’ll let them know.’ She put down the phone. ‘Mrs Kelly has a client with her. She’ll be with you in about fifteen minutes. Can I get you a coffee while you . . . ?’

  Xena’s eyes narrowed to slits. ‘Where’s her office?’

  ‘I’m afraid . . .’

  ‘Then I’ll find it myself.’ She headed towards a set of glass and aluminium spiral stairs.

  ‘I’ll have to call security.’

  Stick followed her. ‘Maybe we should . . . ?’

  ‘Have we got time to mince about for fifteen minutes drinking coffee and contemplating our navels, Stick?’

  ‘No, not really.’

  ‘Let’s go then.’ She took the stairs two at a time.

  Two beefy-looking men appeared at the top of the stairs.

  ‘And what do you two clowns want?’

  The wider of the two said, ‘I’m afraid . . .’

  ‘You should be afraid – very afraid. You come within three feet of me and I’ll arrest you for assaulting a police officer, and a female police officer at that. Now, get the fuck out of my way. If you want to speed things up, you can tell me where Mrs Kelly parks her arse?’

  The man pointed along the corridor. ‘Third door on the right.’

  ‘It’s good to have someone co-operate for a change.’ She shoved him out of the way, strode down to an office sporting a black nameplate with Elizabeth Kelly (CSyP) etched on it and opened the door.

  A smartly dressed grey-haired woman with glasses was sitting behind the desk, and three Asian men were sitting in front of it.

  ‘I’m sorry, you can’t . . .’ the woman said.

  ‘Can’t isn’t a word I’
m familiar with. When a police officer turns up at your door wanting to ask you some questions, the idea is that you drop everything and co-operate with said police officer. I’m investigating two murders and . . .’

  Mrs Kelly stood up. ‘Excuse me. I’m in the middle of a meeting with these gentlemen . . .’

  Xena turned to stare at them, brandished her warrant card and said, ‘Get out.’

  They didn’t move.

  ‘Arrest them, Stick. Obstructing a police officer during the murder investigation.’

  Stick pulled out half-a-dozen white plastic wrist restraints and moved towards the men.

  They stood up quickly and hurried out of the office.

  Xena sat down in one of the vacant chairs. ‘Coffee would be good.’

  Mrs Kelly smiled and sat back down. ‘You could triple your salary if you came to work for us. We’re always on the look-out for strong leaders.’

  ‘I’ll give it some thought. In the meantime, I believe you installed a security system at 167 Hamlet Hill in Roydon Hamlet – the home of Professor and Mrs Tyndall on September 15, 2014.’

  ‘I’d need to check the records, but I’m sure you’re right.’

  ‘I want to know who installed the security system, I want a list of all your staff – full- and part-time, contractors and so forth, I also want to know of anyone who might have been aware that the Tyndall’s were having that particular system installed in their house and who would be familiar with the system.’

  ‘Is that all?’

  ‘As long as we get the co-operation we expect, but if there’s any further obstacles put in our way I’ll produce a list that would bring the company to a standstill, maybe get the forensic accountants in, and . . .’

  ‘When would you like them?’

  ‘Now would be excellent. If I didn’t want the information now I would have phoned, but I didn’t do that, did I? I came all the way over here from Braintree to obtain the required information, not to fill out a request form.’

  ‘Coffee, you say?’

  ‘And a couple of custard creams would be appreciated. Breakfast wasn’t much fun, and lunch is a good few hours away.’