The Flesh is Weak (P&R3)

by Tim Ellis

  A porter wanted to carry his holdall, but Linton passed him a twenty-pound note and said he’d carry it himself.

  In the room, the first thing he did was empty the minibar of alcoholic drinks and pour them down the sink. He wanted a drink so bad that he found it hard to breathe. What he didn’t need was temptation just a screw cap away. He hung the ‘Do Not Disturb’ sign on the outside of the door, then took the transit case from his holdall and placed it carefully in the cupboard out of the way. What he also didn’t need was a maid stumbling into the room and finding a sniper’s rifle on the bed instead of a guest.

  Outside, he noticed that there were walls separating the balconies either side. There was a white plastic table and two matching chairs, and if he wanted to, he could crane his neck around the wall and peer onto his neighbour’s balcony. It wasn’t ideal, but it would suffice for what he had in mind.

  He left the room and found the stairs. At the top was a fire door onto the roof, which had an active alarm that would notify reception if the door opened. He’d done a course, as part of his training, on accessing ideal firing points and circumventing troublesome alarms. This particular alarm had a key override function, which he overrode.

  Out on the roof, he found a small stone to use as a wedge for the door. What he didn’t want was to draw attention to himself by getting stranded up here. He walked to the edge and found the view he was looking for, and it wasn’t of the Thames or the London Eye.

  ***

  After embarrassing Debbie Shinwell by telling her how young and beautiful she looked, Parish knocked on the Chief’s door and called out, ‘Dos cervezas, por favor?’ in his best Spanish.

  ‘Come in, Parish,’ the Chief shouted back.

  He opened the door. ‘You didn’t think it was the cleaner then?’

  ‘Asking for two beers?’

  ‘I didn’t know you spoke Spanish, Chief?’

  ‘There’s a lot you don’t know about me, Parish. As a young man, before I joined the police force, I did a stint on the Costa del Sol as a travel rep’. That’s where I met my wife.’

  ‘Do you still miss her, Sir?’

  ‘Every day, Richards. So, have you come in here to enquire about my misspent youth, or are you going to brief me on what’s going on with the case?’

  They sat down in the easy chairs around the coffee table. The Chief moved from behind his desk and came to join them.

  Parish helped himself to a four-sugared coffee. ‘When you’re ready, Richards, don’t keep the Chief waiting?’

  She already had her notebook out. Parish closed his eyes as Richards filled the Chief in on what they had discovered so far… ‘And my mum’s pregnant, Chief.’

  ‘Is that true, Parish?’

  He was lying on a white sand beach in the Maldives with Angie. She had on her black bikini and looked fantastic sat in the clear blue water keeping cool. The bump was beginning to show, and it made him want her more. He was just finishing his iced lager shandy, and then they were off snorkelling in the coral reef with the clown fish and the Dolphins.

  He rubbed his eyes. ‘Sorry, Chief?’

  ‘That Angie’s pregnant?’

  ‘How…? We’re going to have to do something about that big mouth of yours, Richards.’

  ‘It slipped out, Sir.’

  ‘No it didn’t. You haven’t got any news of your own, so you thought you’d blab mine.’

  She opened her mouth as if to argue, but instead said, ‘I don’t know how you can be so mean to me… and they’re going to get married as well, Chief.’

  ‘Just wait until I tell your mother, Richards.’

  ‘Congratulations, Parish, but I have to say it doesn’t surprise me. In fact, its about time, what do you think, Richards?’

  ‘I think its great, Chief.’

  ‘You do know that I’ll have to separate you two when Parish marries your mother?’

  Richards stared at the Chief with her mouth open.

  ‘That shut you up didn’t it, Richards?’ Parish said and laughed.

  The Chief joined in.

  ‘I’ll never believe another word you say, Chief.’

  ‘So, tell me, Parish,’ the Chief said after he’d finished laughing. ‘You think the same person who killed Masterson killed these children?’

  ‘It’s looking that way. I’ll know more when the computer tec’ gets into the document that Masterson emailed to himself. If it turns out he knew something about these missing children, then we can assume that’s why he was killed because the killer took all of his research and set fire to the Hoddesdon Mercury as well. Whatever it was, Masterson has gone to a lot of trouble to keep it from us.’

  ‘But we think there’s more than one killer,’ Richards butted in. ‘Well, I do, anyway.’

  ‘If there is more than one killer, Richards,’ the Chief said, ‘What would be their motive?’

  Richards grinned. ‘The Inspector has already asked me that. It could be a paedophile ring.’

  ‘And you still haven’t found out whether the skeletons are all female or a mixture of male and female?’

  ‘No, Sir. We’re waiting for Doc Michelin to do the post mortems, but he’s got a lot to do.’

  ‘I can imagine. What do you think is behind hanging the victims upside down, decapitating them, and draining their blood? Are we dealing with vampires or something? Have you looked into that yet?’

  ‘No, Sir. We’ve speculated that’s how Masterson was killed because of the lack of blood, the hole that Richards found in the ceiling of his flat, and the severed head, but that’s all it is – speculation. We have no evidence that’s how it actually happened. Also, the only similarity between Amy Linton and Masterson are the marks on the cervical vertebrae, and as Doc Michelin has said he’s only eighty percent convinced a bone saw was used in both cases.’

  ‘Hmmm,’ the Chief said.

  Parish finished his coffee off and poured another one. ‘We’re finding the pieces, but I can’t say at the moment that they all come from the same jigsaw puzzle. It might be that Masterson’s death has nothing to do with the skeletons in Galleyhill Wood.’

  ‘So, what do you hope to find out at CEOPS tomorrow?’

  ‘As I said before, the method of killing is pure speculation, but we’re already jumping to the conclusion that it’s about Satanism, vampires, or a ritual of some sort. If we’re wrong about the way these children were murdered, and for that matter even if we’re right, the motive could be something more mundane such as child sex, pornography, organ trafficking, or a psychopath celebrating his birthday. So, we’re going to find out if they’ve got any information that is relevant to our case.’

  ‘Yes, but let’s not jump too far the other way, Parish. There are a number of clues that suggest black magic or Satanic rituals such as the boiling of the children, burying only the bones and reconstructing the skeleton in the grave, putting five bodies in one grave, and the locations of the graves forming a pentagram…’

  ‘Well, that’s not strictly true, Chief. They do form a pentagon, but the pentagram inside is again speculation on our part.’

  ‘Still… when you start to add everything up, it begins to look decidedly diabolical.’

  ‘We’re keeping open minds at the moment, aren’t we, Richards?’

  ‘If you say so, Sir.’

  ‘I don’t think these twenty-two children went missing recently. This has been going on for a long time, years probably. I’ve asked Jenny Weber to put out a formal statement requesting help from the public. Somebody must have seen something.’

  ‘That’s going to clog up the switchboard – they’ll need help.’

  ‘I can’t help that, Chief.’

  ‘I suppose not.’

  ‘We’re meeting with Doc Michelin and the forensic anthropologist from Sheffield University for lunch on Friday, I’m hoping we’ll start finding out who the rest of these children are. Once we have their names, we’ll also get a mountain of information that we’ll hav
e to sort and categorise, we’ll probably need some extra clerical staff as well.’

  ‘Clerical staff are good, Parish, nice and cheap.’

  ‘I thought you’d like that, Sir.’

  ‘How are Holmes and Watson doing?’

  ‘They…’

  ‘I don’t like them, Chief.’

  ‘The Chief’s not interested in your likes and dislikes, Richards, he wants to know whether they’re going to be an asset to the investigation.’

  ‘Oh.’

  ‘And will they, Parish?’

  ‘I’ll know more about them after tomorrow, but my initial impression is that they’ll do a good job.’

  ‘They’re lesbians, Chief.’

  ‘Ah,’ the Chief mused. ‘And you think that this will affect how they carry out their duties?’

  ‘Well… no, but I didn’t like being left alone with them.’

  ‘Because they threatened you, eyed you as if you were fresh juicy meat?’

  ‘You’re making fun of me?’

  Parish laughed. ‘What do you expect, Richards? The fact that they’re lesbians has no bearing on their ability to do the job, forget about it. If they ever make sexual advances toward you let me know and I’ll set them straight.’

  Richards smiled sheepishly. ‘Thanks, Sir.’

  ‘And you’ve made up with the press?’ the Chief said.

  ‘With Masterson dead there didn’t seem much point in continuing the argument.’

  ‘I suppose not. Anything else, Richards?’

  ‘Not that I can think of, Chief.’

  ‘Off you go then, and no shopping in London tomorrow.’

  ‘Inspector Parish has already told me I can’t go shopping.’

  ‘Good job too. If you can afford to go shopping in London then we’re paying you too much.’

  ‘Huh.’ Sighing, she trudged towards the door. ‘If it was left up to you two a girl would never have any fun.’

  ‘The drama queen and I will see you Thursday, Chief,’ Parish said nudging Richards in the small of the back.

  ***

  Once it was completely dark, John Linton took out the transit case from the holdall, opened it up on the bed, and assembled the rifle. Then he walked out onto the balcony, checked that there was no one about on the balconies either side of him and sat down in one of the white plastic chairs. He rested the tripod on top of the wall, placed his right eye against the scope and adjusted the rangefinding reticle using the elevation, parallax, illumination, and magnification controls. His hands had stopped shaking, and he felt something he hadn’t felt in a very long time.

  The distance was just over nine hundred metres as the crow flies. There were a group of teenagers sat on the steps smoking and drinking. He picked one with long hair like rat’s tails as a target until he had a clear shot of the centre of his spotty forehead. He pulled the trigger and mouthed ‘Pow!’ On the roof tomorrow, he’d have to adjust everything again, as well as gauge the windage, but he was happy that the shot was doable.

  Disassembling the rifle, he put the parts back in the transit case and placed it back in the cupboard. He then stripped off his clothes, climbed under the quilt, and lay there with his hands behind his head picturing himself on the roof taking the shot like an assassin in a movie. This was no movie though – it was real life, and his beautiful daughter had to die for him to get a starring role in this blockbuster.

  ***

  Wednesday 11th May

  Parish told himself he wasn’t waiting up for Richards, but he knew he was. It was quarter past midnight and he was getting worried. Angie had gone to bed over two hours ago. If it had been anyone but Murcer that Richards had gone out with he’d have probably gone to bed with her. She knew he was worried and hadn’t held him to his earlier promise of sex.

  At last, he thought as he heard a car’s tyres screech. The front door opened and banged, and he heard Richards run up the stairs.

  Parish followed her up, and opened the bedroom door without knocking.

  ‘Go away,’ she said lying face down on her bed sobbing.

  ‘Not until you tell me you’re all right.’

  Angie came in and stood beside him. ‘What’s wrong?’

  ‘That’s what I’m trying to find out.’

  ‘I’m all right,’ Richards cried.

  ‘Look at me,’ Parish said to her.

  Richards turned her head slowly. The left side of her face was swollen, blood trickled from the corner of her mouth, and her eyes were red and streaked with mascara from crying.

  Angie ran and held her daughter in her arms. ‘Oh God, what happened?’

  ‘He tried to rape me, mum. When I said no, he hit me.’

  Parish ran back down the stairs, grabbed his coat from the cupboard, and left the house. He climbed in the car and turned the key in the ignition, took out his mobile and rang the Duty Sergeant – it was Jenny Ravel.

  ‘Jenny, I need a favour.’

  ‘It’s the only time you ever ring me, Parish.’

  ‘Can you get me the address of Dr Rick Murcer the entomologist in forensics?’

  ‘You know I can’t…’

  He interrupted her and told her what had happened to Richards.

  ‘Bastard.’ After looking it up on the computer network she gave him the address.

  ‘I…’

  ‘…never rang. I haven’t heard from you in months, Parish, and when you do call don’t expect any handouts.’

  ‘I love you, Jenny.’

  ‘If only that were true.’

  Angie banged on the side window.

  He lowered it.

  ‘Don’t do anything stupid, Jed.’

  ‘I’m going to do what I should have done this morning, but don’t worry Kowalski’s going to give me an alibi. Is she okay?’

  ‘She’ll survive, but she’ll have some bruising for a few days.’ She touched his face. ‘You be careful.’

  ‘I will,’ he said, and kissed her as she leaned in.

  He phoned Kowalski.

  ‘Do you know what fucking…’

  Parish heard Kowalski’s wife, Jerry in the background.

  ‘…I’m in the shit already, Parish. This better be good?’

  ‘Tonight I need an alibi.’ He told Kowalski what had happened.

  ‘Give me the address?’

  ‘27 Temple Mead, Roydon. You’ll get there before me, so wait for me.’

  ***

  It was quarter to two in the morning and Parish felt wiped out. Neither he nor Kowalski had slept much last night, and they weren’t going to get much sleep tonight either. He climbed out of his Focus and got into the passenger seat of Kowalski’s Volvo Estate.

  ‘What’s the plan, compadre?’ Kowalski asked.

  ‘We knock on the door, he opens it, we kick two shades of shit out of him, and then we make a run for it.’

  ‘That’s not a plan, it’s a suicide note. Is he married?’

  ‘I don’t know, I only met the bastard today. I assume not seeing as he took Richards out and tried to rape her.’

  ‘But you don’t know?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘So, he could have a wife and ten kids in there for all you know?’

  ‘Shit.’ Now that he was here listening to the voice of reason it all seemed a bit irrational. ‘I’m not going home to tell Richards that I couldn’t defend her honour because we didn’t know if he was married and had kids or not.’

  ‘I’m with you all the way, but we should think of the consequences. Shame we didn’t bring ski masks or something. Have you got gloves, we don’t want to leave any fingerprints?’

  ‘I’m going over there,’ Parish said opening the door.

  Kowalski followed suit. ‘You’ve not really thought this through, have you?

  Once they were outside, standing by the car in the eerie darkness, Parish whispered, ‘If his wife and ten kids come to the door, we say we want to talk to him. If he’s the one that opens the door, we shove him inside an
d beat the crap out of him. We do it quick, and get out of there.’

  The gate creaked as Kowalski pushed it open, stood to the side, and let Parish walk up the path first.

  ‘What’s our alibi?’ Kowalski hissed. ‘Where are we instead of here?’

  ‘Playing poker.’

  ‘Do you know how to play poker?’

  Parish hadn’t got the faintest idea how to play poker. He banged on the door.

  Eventually a light came on, and a silhouette appeared through the dimpled glass. ‘Who is it?’

  Parish looked at Kowalski who pulled a face and shrugged.

  ‘Police, please open up, Mr Murcer,’ Parish said with an attempt at a disguised voice.

  They heard the rattling of a chain and then a key being turned. The door opened a crack and Parish barged it fully open with his shoulder.

  Murcer stumbled backwards. ‘What the…’

  Parish followed Murcer along the hall. As he tried to grab hold of something to stop his fall Parish hit him on the side of the face. ‘That’s for Richards, you bastard.’

  ‘Fuck you, Parish, the prick-teasing bitch deserved it.’

  Kowalski shouldered Parish out of the way. ‘Here let me show him what we think of rapists who hit women.’ He picked Murcer up by the lapels of his dressing gown as if he were a sackful of rubbish, pushed him back against the wall, and hit him full in the face with a massive fist. There was an audible crack, and blood spurted from Murcer’s nose and mouth as he slid to the floor.

  ‘You’ve not killed him, have you?’

  Kowalski squatted and checked Murcer’s carotid pulse. ‘Taking a nap.’

  ‘Come on, we’d better go,’ Parish said tugging at Kowalski’s sleeve. ‘Leave the bastard there.’

  They left the house, shutting the door on their way out.

  ‘What now?’ Kowalski said.

  ‘Now, we’d better get our stories straight.’