The Flesh is Weak (P&R3)

by Tim Ellis

  ‘And Murcer? Kowalski was here, he told me what you two idiots did.’

  ‘Murcer’s history, Toadstone got him transferred to somewhere inhospitable, and as for paying him a visit… I had no choice, and Kowalski came along because he likes hitting people.’

  ‘You could have ended both of your careers.’

  ‘Well, we didn’t… So, have you got anything?’

  ‘Before I reveal the route through the labyrinth what’s this I hear about you fighting trains?’

  ‘A hobby, something I like to do when I’m pushed into it.’

  ‘Ah, I didn’t think you were that clumsy. The same people who killed Masterson?’

  ‘Not sure, but I don’t think so.’

  ‘Oh? Is there a queue?’

  ‘You’re guess is as good as mine, Doc. The Chief’s given me protection at night, and Angie’s got a plainclothes officer during the day.’

  ‘A wise precaution until you know what’s going on.’

  ‘I don’t think I’ll ever know what’s going on, Doc. I feel like a mushroom that’s kept in the dark and fed on...’

  ‘Well, let me shine a sliver of light to illuminate the darkness, Parish.’ He turned back to the skeleton he’d been working on. ‘What do you see?’

  ‘A very white child’s skeleton with the skull missing.’

  ‘Oh yes, Libby Fischer the forensic anthropologist from Sheffield University has that for measurement purposes.’

  ‘How’s that going?’

  ‘I’ll introduce you in a while, but I thought you wanted a clue first?’

  ‘Go on?’

  ‘So, this skeleton – like all the others – is extraordinarily white. That’s because the bodies were boiled until all the flesh had fallen away.’

  ‘Okay… do you know why?’

  ‘I’m afraid the why falls within your sphere of influence, Parish, and you can imagine that I haven’t had much in the way of free time to speculate for you either.’

  ‘Free time? Yes, I vaguely recall that concept.’

  ‘Look more closely at the sternum – that’s the breastbone to you.’

  Parish leaned forward and squinted. ‘Has somebody scratched something into the bone?’

  Doc Michelin swung a large powerful magnifying glass attached to a hanging arm over the skeleton.

  ‘You could have done that in the first place, Doc.’

  ‘I wanted you to understand why I missed it the first time round. Take another look.’

  Parish could see a tiny mark etched into the bone. ‘Christ! It’s a pentagram. Is it just this skeleton, or have they all been engraved in the same way?’

  ‘All of them have this mark. I would say it’s the killer’s signature, but look closer – in the middle of the pentagram.’

  He strained his eyes because the mark was so tiny, and saw what looked like an ‘f’ at the centre of the pentagram. ‘It reminds me of the miniature engravings you get on watch parts.’

  ‘Did you know that Abraham Lincoln’s pocket watch contained a secret message engraved inside by a watchmaker?’

  ‘Is that relevant?’

  ‘No, merely a bit of trivia I picked up on my travels. They didn’t discover the message until the watch was opened at the Jeffersonian Institute in 2009.’

  ‘Fascinating. Do you know what this symbol is, Doc?’

  ‘Strangely enough, I’ve seen it before. It’s the Masonic symbol for Tubal Cain, the secret password of a Master Mason. It’s a pun – two balls either side of a cane – it looks like an ‘f’.’

  Parish stood up and rubbed the small of his back. ‘I can hear some of the tumblers falling into place, Doc. Forensics managed to retrieve one word from an email that Masterson sent to himself before it self-destructed – Cain.’

  ‘As usual, Parish, with enough will, determination and effort all the world’s enigmas eventually fall victim to man’s ingenuity.’

  ‘Who said that?’

  ‘I just did.’

  ‘Very philosophical.’

  ‘I have my moments.’

  ‘I can’t believe the local Freemasons are involved in the abduction and murder of children. You’re not a Mason are you, Doc?’

  ‘No, although I have been approached a couple of times, but I’m not a joiner. Couldn’t be doing with all that ridiculous ceremony, secret handshakes, and the like.’

  ‘I’ve never been asked, do you think someone’s trying to tell me something?’

  ‘When you’re promoted to Chief, you’ll probably find them knocking on your door. They’re mainly interested in successful connected people with money.’

  He gave a short laugh. ‘Ah, that explains it then, I don’t possess any of those qualities.’

  ‘Anyway, getting back to the symbol, I haven’t had the time to do my usual spot of research, but there’s obviously more to it than the local Freemasons murdering children.’

  ‘Don’t worry, I have two detectives helping me, and they’re doing some research on Satanism and the Wicca religion.’ He pulled out his mobile, walked out into the corridor because he liked to pace up and down while he was talking, and rang Holmes.

  ‘Hello, Sir?’

  ‘Listen Holmes, I’m in the Mortuary with Doc Michelin, and he’s discovered a symbol engraved into the breastbones of each child’s skeleton.’

  ‘It’s a pentagram isn’t it, Sir?’

  ‘You really know how to take the wind out of a guy’s sails, Holmes.’

  ‘It didn’t take much detective work to realise it was going to be that, Sir. I mean, that’s the symbol in Galleyhill Wood.’

  ‘Okay, but can you guess what’s in the centre of the pentagram?’

  ‘No, you’ve got me on that one.’

  ‘You’re not just saying that to butter me up are you, Holmes?’

  He heard a laugh like tinkling bells at Christmas. ‘No Sir, I really don’t know.’

  ‘It’s a symbol used by the Freemasons of a cane with two balls – one on each side, and is meant to represent the name…’

  ‘…Tubal Cain.’

  ‘I’m going to send you for therapy, Holmes. Finishing people’s sentences must be a psychological problem with a complicated name that is bound to have its roots in your childhood.’

  The same tinkling laugh echoed over the connection. ‘Sorry Sir, but we’ve been looking into Satanism, and the use of the pentagram. The one group that keeps coming up is the Clan of Tubal Cain, and it’s the only group that uses the name ‘Cain’.’

  ‘What do we know about them?’

  ‘Nothing.’

  ‘What, you haven’t looked into the group yet?’

  ‘No, Watson and I have looked into them, but found nothing at all. If such a group exists today, they’re keeping well below the radar.’

  ‘What’s your gut feeling?’

  ‘I think we’ve found the people responsible, Sir.’

  ‘Mmmm. Okay, keep looking. We’ll see you later.’

  ‘Okay, Sir.’

  He went back into the Mortuary. ‘The Clan of Tubal Cain, ever heard of them, Doc?’

  ‘Sorry, doesn’t ring any bells.’

  ‘What about the name Tubal Cain?’

  ‘A name mentioned in the Bible. He was a descendent of Cain and the first person to work with brass and iron apparently.’

  ‘You’re a mine of information, Doc.’

  ‘Only because women don’t find me attractive I have lots of time to read, and talking of women let me introduce you to Libby Fischer.’ He walked to a small recess out of the way at the far side of the freezers that Parish had never noticed before.

  ‘The technician usually occupies this little hidey-hole, but Libby’s got it for now.’

  A thin blue-haired woman in her mid-twenties sat in the wooden chair working at a very expensive-looking laptop on a wooden table.

  ‘Libby, can I introduce Inspector Jed Parish. He’s leading the investigation into these murdered children.’

&nb
sp; Libby stood up and turned round to face him. Her blue hair was held up with a bone clip. Parish imagined the bone was something to do with her being a forensic anthropologist. And even though the temperature in the Mortuary was around ten degrees Celsius, she wore a grey sleeveless top with a plunging neckline and no bra. Her skin was porcelain white, and the bones of her shoulders jutted out like a mountain range.

  He tried not to stare at her firm round breasts and erect nipples, but he failed miserably. He was, after all, a male who was attracted to the opposite sex, and in the proper context with the right lighting, Libby Fischer would have been considered beautiful.

  He shook the thin hand, and focussed on her wide eyes through the slimline blue-rimmed glasses. ‘Nice to meet you, Miss Fischer, how’s the reconstruction going.’

  ‘Hello.’ She smiled showing perfect teeth. ‘I’ve completed two children’s faces up to now...’

  ‘And they’re in the system hunting for matches,’ Doc Michelin interrupted.

  ‘Only two,’ Parish said his face dropping. ‘How are you going to finish them all before lunchtime tomorrow?’

  ‘Don’t worry, they’ll all be done,’ Libby said. ‘I’m staying here late tonight to complete them.’

  ‘As Libby finishes each face, I’m scanning it into the system and starting the search for matches. Don’t worry, Parish, by lunchtime tomorrow you’ll have a picture of all the children, and hopefully we’ll know who most of them are.’

  ‘If you say so, Doc,’ he said sceptically. ‘I’m going up to the cafeteria now to meet Richards for lunch if you’re interested?’

  ‘As much as I’d love to, I’m afraid it’s a working lunch for Libby and I. There’s a certain Detective Inspector who’s driving us hard...’

  ‘I know him,’ Parish said walking towards the door. ‘A fantastic guy, good looking, suave, debonair...’

  Doc Michelin grunted. ‘In your dreams, Parish.’

  ‘Nice to meet you, Libby, and I’ll see you both tomorrow for lunch.’

  They waved him out; their attention already redirected from him back to the task at hand. He hoped Libby knew what she was doing. The black female child he had seen on the screen of her laptop had only been three-quarters reconstructed, but it certainly looked realistic.

  ***

  ‘How was the therapy?’

  ‘You’ll find out.’

  Parish could see that she’d been crying. He knew she would talk when she was ready. They were in the queue for lunch and it was twenty to one. He changed the subject. ‘I’m starving, are there any horses on the menu?’

  ‘You’re gross, Sir.’

  ‘Have you ever eaten salami?’

  ‘Sometimes.’

  ‘Well, sometimes it has horsemeat in it.’

  ‘I’m going to be sick.’

  ‘The lunch queue is not the place to be sick, Richards.’

  ‘Well, stop talking about salami made of horsemeat then.’

  ‘So, what are you having for lunch?’

  ‘I don’t know if I can eat anything now.’

  ‘I hear the salami won the Grand National two year’s ago.’

  She elbowed him.

  ‘I think I’ll have the Cumberland pie with extra peas and carrots. I wonder if they’ve got any red cabbage?’

  She chose the pasta salad with a bottle of water. As well as the Cumberland pie with carrots, he helped himself to rhubarb crumble with custard and a mug of strong coffee, but they had no red cabbage.

  Once they were seated at a table near the centre of the cafeteria and he had a mouthful of pie and carrots Richards said, “He made me talk about it, Sir.’

  ‘By ‘it’ I assume you mean your abduction and captivity by Ruben Millhaven?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘That’s good, Richards. It’s called the talking cure.’

  ‘He was going to rape me, you know?’ She began sobbing. ‘He was so powerful, and I was naked and defenceless.’

  He squeezed her hand. ‘It’s all right, these are the feelings you must come to terms with.’

  ‘Rick Murcer brought all those feelings back.’

  ‘Don’t you worry about Murcer, Richards, he’ll be feeling beaten up and isolated himself about now.’

  ‘I don’t think I could go with another man, Sir. Do you think I’m turning into a lesbian?’

  ‘What did the therapist say?’

  ‘He said to come back on Tuesday next week, that we have a lot of work to do.’

  ‘There are men out there who are dreaming of you, Richards. They’re dreaming of a beautiful woman who has a wonderful personality. You’re the girl of their dreams.’

  ‘Do you really think so?’

  ‘No, not really, but you have to think positive.’

  ‘You’re so mean, Sir.’

  ‘Of course I think so. There was no way either of us could have prevented Millhaven’s attack, you just have to come to terms with that much in the same way as I do with Naylor’s attempt on my life. I get the same feelings you do, Richards.’

  ‘Do you?’

  ‘Yes, and Murcer has knocked you for six. – Literally and figuratively. There are a lot of men out there who talk with their fists. Hopefully you won’t meet any more of them, but if you do you have to remember that it’s not about you it’s about them, and you’ve always got me and Kowalski to go round and beat the crap out of them.’

  She touched his arm. ‘That was a stupid thing to do, Sir.’

  ‘Now you tell me. I was defending your honour.’

  ‘You could have lost your job and ended up in jail.’

  ‘That’s how much you mean to me, Richards. When you get those feelings of being swallowed up by it all – remember I’m here – you can always count on me – and Kowalski I suppose.’

  ‘Thanks, Sir.’

  His mobile played Crazy Frog. ‘Hello Kowalski, Richards and I were...’

  ‘The Chief’s been rushed to hospital. He’s had a relapse, looks bad this time, Parish.’

  ‘Crap! I’m in the cafeteria at the moment. They’ll take him to A & E, Richards and I will go down and wait for him.’

  ‘Gorman and I will be there in about forty-five minutes.’

  ‘Listen Kowalski, there’s no need for the whole station to come down here and stand around in corridors waiting for news. Look what happened the last time the Chief was admitted to hospital – we ended up with Naylor. You stay there and sort things out, ring the Chief Constable, ask him to send someone decent this time. What we don’t want is a load of shit to come back to. When there’s news I’ll ring you.’

  ‘I suppose you’re right, Parish. I hate it when you’re right.’

  ‘You could even suggest to the Chief Constable that you’d be prepared to step up yourself.’

  ‘They can’t be that desperate. And anyway, my heart couldn’t stand the pressure.’

  ‘I’ll ring you soon, Ray.’

  He disconnected the call.

  ‘Tell me it’s not the Chief, Sir?’

  ‘I can’t do that, Richards. He’s being brought here. Come on, let’s get down to A & E.’

  She began crying again. ‘He was doing so well, the cancer had gone, his hair had grown back, he looked normal again. What’s happened, Sir?’

  ‘I don’t have the answers.’

  ‘I don’t think I’ve ever felt so low.’

  They left everything on the table as it was and walked out of the cafeteria and down the stairs to A & E. They didn’t have long to wait. An ambulance arrived within minutes. The sirens were blaring and the blue light flashing. Paramedics wheeled the Chief in, and made the crying Debbie Shinwell release the Chief’s pale hand before they took him into an emergency room.

  Parish enveloped her in his arms.

  ‘He’s going to die, isn’t he?’ she said through her sobs.

  Richards led the three of them to a bank of plastic chairs attached to the wall of the corridor. ‘Here, sit down,’ she said. ‘The Chi
ef won’t die, Debbie, you’ll see. He won’t die will he, Sir?’

  Parish wanted it to be true, but he had a bad feeling that wouldn’t leave him. ‘Let’s wait and see what the doctors have to say, shall we?’

  After fifteen minutes of waiting, an Asian doctor came out shaking his head. ‘Are you Mr Day’s family?’

  All three of them stood up.

  ‘We’re all the family he’s got,’ Parish said.

  ‘I’m sorry, we couldn’t save him. He died a few minutes ago without regaining consciousness.’

  ‘But... he was fine this morning,’ Richards said the tears cascading down her face.

  ‘We’ll have to carry out a post mortem, of course, but it looks as though the cancer re-established itself and attacked his spine, lungs, and other internal organs. There was nothing we could do to save him, he had a particularly aggressive form of cancer.’

  ‘But... there was no sign, he didn’t say anything... He’d got better...’ Richards had turned white.

  Debbie held onto Richards and eased her into a chair. ‘He knew,’ she said. ‘I told him to tell you two, but he said you had enough to worry about without him telling you his troubles.’

  ‘Oh God,’ Richards said and broke down.

  ‘That was the Chief,’ Parish said. ‘Always thinking of others before himself.’

  Debbie seemed to have brought her grief under control. She’d had longer than Parish and Richards to come to terms with Walter Day dying. ‘Don’t worry, I’ll arrange everything. Walter and I talked about it. He left written instructions on what he wanted, and there’s a will.’

  ‘What will we do without him, Debbie?’

  ‘You’ll carry on, that’s what we always do – carry on. What he wanted most was for you to find the killer of those children.’

  ‘Yes, we’ll do that for the Chief, won’t we, Sir?’

  ‘We’ll do our very best, Richards.’

  He moved along the corridor, pulled out his mobile, and phoned Kowalski.

  ‘Shit. I was only talking to him this morning.’

  ‘Apparently, he knew the cancer had come back.’

  ‘I could fucking kill him, Parish.’

  ‘I know, me too. What did the Chief Constable say?’

  ‘He’s sending in his trouble-shooter Superintendent Rhona Powers.’