Power and Control

by Robert H Wilde

  Was this comfort she was feeling? Actual comfort? A peace in her mind?

  A key in a lock, something physical, and then her sister shouting ‘hi’ as she came in. Karen noted a slight slur at the edge of Susan’s speech.

  “You been out, out?” Karen asked.

  “Yeah, the police I’m working with took me to a restaurant. It’s so weird. They’re really horrible in there and everyone goes just for that. It’s like Disneyland with electric shocks. How are you?”

  “Just doing my homework,” Karen said, raising the bible up.

  “Eh?”

  “The NHS ran out of money, so they sent me to a church group for the mentally ill.” Then annoyed, “It’s actually very good, I can see your face.”

  “No, no, I didn’t say anything. I can believe the NHS are struggling; the police are. So, this group’s cool then?”

  “Yeah. Did you bring any food home?”

  “Ooh you’re actually eating?”

  “Yes. Well I would if someone stocked up their house.”

  “Alright, I’ll order you a pizza, and I’ll get some food in tomorrow. Unless you want to take some cash and get it sorted?”

  “Yes, yes I think I would.”

  “Alright,” Susan pulled her wallet out.

  “The bible was free,” Karen explained.

  “Oh, that’s cool. Here’s some money. Get what you like, I’m easy. Although I don’t like mushrooms.”

  “Not that easy.”

  “I would take you to the Smoking Monkey but it’s basically gonna ruin your mood.”

  “You did not go to a place called that!”

  “I did, I’ll google them, look.”

  “First review: 3 stars because the food is excellent, but the service is like being in a Soviet gulag for particularly troublesome people.”

  “Yep. It was great.”

  “And people think I’m the mad one.”

  Reception was hidden behind a very stern looking door. Grayling had been to a couple of clinics over the years, one for her mother and once for her, and they had been open plan, welcoming places trying to put you at ease. The Short Clinic was a tiny metal sign with just that on and a large buzzer on a heavy, windowless door.

  Maruma was behind Grayling and Susan next to him.

  “There’s a camera there,” he said pointing to a dot most other people wouldn’t have even seen.

  “Ta.” A press of the buzzer.

  “Yes?”

  “I’m DC Grayling from Morthern Police. We’d like to come in and ask you some questions.”

  A long pause, then “prove it.” Grayling held her card up to the dot. “What are you accusing us of?”

  Grayling rolled her eyes and replied, “nothing. We don’t believe you have broken the law we just wish to ask questions relating to a case. We’d like to come in and do that. Of course, if you keep hiding behind this door, you’ll start to look suspicious and…”

  The sound of a lock going. “Come in.”

  They stepped inside. The waiting room was white, the sort of over the top white people see in visions of heaven. A white that tries too hard.

  The receptionist was a small Asian lady who probably had a cushion on the chair. If there was any trouble, they needed the heavy door.

  “The Dr is currently busy, but if you’d like to wait…” There were no chairs for waiting.

  Grayling began with “actually, you can help us. I believe you run conversion therapy for gays, lesbians, that sort of thing.”

  “No comment.”

  “Right, no, look, it’s not illegal, we’re not here to arrest anyone, we want to confirm details from elsewhere in our work.”

  “We… do… do that.”

  “Right, and you keep files, right?”

  “Yes Mrs…”

  “Miss, DC Grayling.”

  “Good, then I want to know if you ever treated one or both these two men, Jonathan Stewart and Kofi Salmon. If you did, I want to see their files, if you didn’t, I want to be satisfied you didn’t by seeing they have no files.”

  The secretary was small, but not stupid. “Come around here,” she said, so Grayling went behind the desk and stood next to her. Maruma and Susan looked on.

  “This is our client database, understood?”

  “And if I search the first name… nothing.”

  “Confirmed.”

  “So, if I search the second name?”

  “Still nothing.”

  “I have not heard of such names. We have no record of such names.”

  “That,” Maruma began to explain, “is more helpful than you probably realise.”

  “Probably. Can I do anything else for you?”

  Grayling, Maruma and Susan all exchanged looks which translated as ‘close this down and go work for a real doctor’, which simply led to Grayling saying, “no, that will do fine thank you.”

  “Hello again,” said DC Atkins as a door was opened. He smiled and was soon brought down to earth when the residents appeared.

  “We’ve had another letter,” the husband said angrily.

  “Ah, that’s why you asked me to come around.”

  “Yes, you obviously haven’t caught the culprit yet.”

  Feeling like a schoolboy getting a telling off, Atkins replied, “I am making progress.”

  “Doesn’t feel like it. Have you got any suspects?”

  “Yes.”

  “Who are they.”

  “What? Err…”

  “Who are these mythical suspects?” The doubt dripped from him like acid and his eyes drilled into Atkins.

  “I can’t really give details.” He protested. Partly because he shouldn’t, partly because the whole street were suspects and he hadn’t narrowed it down one tiny bit.

  “Do you have any?”

  “I have a different letter sent by the same person.” Atkins had been feeling under pressure to look competent and this certainly caused the husband to pause.

  “Oh?”

  “The previous owner’s family received one.”

  “That’s good.”

  Is it, is it really? But Atkins wouldn’t say that, so instead he asked, “can I see the new letter please?”

  “Yes, of course,” again it was presented in a sandwich bag.

  “Did you not get fingerprints off them?”

  “No.”

  “But we bagged them.”

  “If they’d been made by people in… look can I read this.”

  He looked at the letter. Same format, new text:

  I SEE YOUR DAUGHTER. I SEE HER RUINING THE GARDEN THE TRUE RESIDENT OF THIS HOUSE LOVED. I SEE YOU CHANGING THE CURTAINS, THE CARPETS, AS IF HISTORY MEANS NOTHING TO YOU. YOU FORCED HER OUT AND YOU RUINED THIS ROAD. NOW YOU HAVE THE POLICE LOOKING. THEY WILL FIND NOTHING ON THIS LETTER. THAT BOY POLICEMAN WILL GET NOWHERE. HE IS BUT A CHILD. LIKE YOUR DAUGHTER. YOU MUST LEAVE, YOU MUST GO FROM THIS PLACE AND BEG FORGIVENESS FROM THE TRUE OWNER.

  Boy? Atkins thought. Shit just got personal. But the letter had been right about last time, no prints. Not that they’d skip testing this letter, criminals could make errors at any time, but the answer seemed to have to come elsewhere than a helpful drop of DNA lying somewhere.

  “You can see our concern,” said the husband.

  “Yes, I understand your concern about your daughter, I do.”

  “Should we move out?”

  “Sorry?”

  “My wife is at the end of her tether; we feel attacked and violated. Do you believe this crazy person is dangerous? Should we move out?”

  “No, no, don’t do that. I think the letter contains a clue,” he said feeling like a real detective. No need to leave, he suddenly knew what to do here. Make a call, make a move, play whoever was doing this at their own game.

  “What is it?”

  “Oh, I can’t say while we’re looking.”

  “It would put our minds at rest.”

  “Has your daughter ever reported anything unusu
al at all while she’s been in the garden.”

  “No.”

  “Then I hope to have this wrapped up very soon.” Atkins left feeling like Sherlock fucking Holmes.

  “So, you’re not exactly good cop and bad cop,” Susan said as Grayling parked the car. “It’s more the talking cop and study precisely what they do cop.”

  “I think you’ll find that’s an observation of praise,” Maruma noted.

  “Agreed, we have a good synergy. No need for bad cop here.”

  “And now you’re tackling Edward Quince in his nest.”

  “Yes Susan, yes we are.”

  Now parked at New Hope Church, they walked into the reception, used at all times other than major services.

  “Hello, welcome to New Hope Church, how may I help you?” asked a polite, well-kept drone sat behind an arched desk.

  “We’d like to speak to Edward Quince please.”

  “Do you have an appointment?”

  “Tell him it’s the two detectives from Sunday, he’ll soon see us.”

  Grayling was right. As soon as the secretary said they were there, they were being ushered in.

  Quince stood in the doorway to his office in full power mode. Wide stance, shaking hands, gleaming teeth, oozing confidence. It worked on Susan, but Grayling and Maruma could see his nerves.

  “What can I help you with today officers?” Quince asked.

  “Have you ever heard of CT?” Grayling asked in reply.

  “No, never, is that something to do with computers?”

  “It’s conversion therapy and is a pseudo-science which tries to turn gay men and women straight again.”

  “I see. No, never heard of it.”

  Maruma could tell he was lying. But ‘being able to tell’ wasn’t useful in a report. Grayling thus pressed on. “Have you ever heard of anyone at the church practicing CT?”

  “My church?”

  “Yes. New Hope.”

  “No, we would never do anything like that.”

  “Have you ever heard anyone link the practice of CT to your church?”

  “No, not at all.”

  “That’s interesting, because five years ago you were quoted in a newspaper article which accused your church of running a secret CT course; and presented with this accusation you denied it.”

  “I… what?” Edward knew he had been caught lying. He just wasn’t sure what that meant. “Oh, that must have slipped my mind. It’s all accusations, no truth.”

  Grayling and Maruma shared one of their looks.

  “What,” Grayling asked, “do you make of homosexuality?”

  “We are a very welcoming, open and tolerant church; we don’t dislike the sinner, we just dislike their sin.”

  “Being gay is a sin?” Maruma checked.

  “Yes. It’s in the bible, in…”

  “I know,” he said, and with a little relish replied, “I have read it.”

  “Good.” Quince was off balance and he felt he had to claw his way back into control, which was where mistakes appeared. “I would know if conversion therapy were being practiced at this church, I know everything, and it isn’t, I can assure you of that. Never has. Just people with an agenda targeting churches for staying true to God.” He smiled.

  Maruma smiled back. He was now completely certain there was a hidden group here and they’d caught the chief elder lying.

  Quince rubbed his eyes. He’d had a headache ever since those detectives had been. He knew they’d tricked him, even if he didn’t really know how or what the consequences would be. But the sense of dread was present, the paranoia was clinging to his head like a lobster, and he felt a desire to fight back. He was Edward fucking Quince, he was respected, he was wise, he was holy, he was going to do things. He had to get rid of these cops.

  He picked the phone up and dialled.

  “Hello Eddy,” Stuart said.

  Quince imagined the face of an ex-addict, an ex-convict who Quince himself had saved, and began the conversation.

  “What have you found out about these vermin.”

  “So, of the three, two are in Morthern CID, the MCU.”

  “And what does that mean?”

  “Major Crime Unit.”

  Major. Oh, my good god. “Go on.”

  “Black guy is Soloman Maruma. Went to Cambridge. No clubs, no trouble, just studied. Employment for a few years, nothing relevant but left and joined cops. Straight out into CID. Some program that lets cops miss uniform. So straight into being a detective constable. Bird is Rebecca Grayling. Went to York university, joined police straight out. Uniform, as fast up as you can progress. Started as detective constable the same day Maruma did. Been a team ever since. But they not fucking. Some weird platonic thing. Neither have relationships I can find.”

  Quince nodded. “They sound driven. Workaholics.”

  “That’s it, yeah.”

  “Balls. And the other?”

  “Journalist. Fresh out of some new uni, got a job at local paper. Likes a drink, likes a party.”

  “Interesting. So how do we get rid of them?”

  “What?”

  “They’re asking questions. How do we get rid?”

  “Well, you pay ‘em off. Or you threaten ‘em off. Or you pressure them off, blackmail like.”

  “And will they take money?”

  “Don’t look like it.”

  “Then what can we blackmail with?”

  “This journo’s easy, but it won’t make a difference. Other two would cut her dead. I dunno. I mean everyone has something.”

  “Then find it.” Quince didn’t like the idea of violence or threats of it, he’d never operated like that. They didn’t sound like the sort of people who could use the power of God to coerce either, which was how he operated.

  “I’ll keep looking Eddy. Hey, am I getting paid for this?”

  “Oh Stuart, if you get rid of these police, I’ll get you whatever you need.” Which, Edward wondered, might trigger Stuart into doing something Edward didn’t approve of, or order, but which would be good, nonetheless.

  “Leave it with me boss.”

  “Good.”

  The phone was put down and Quince wondered how he could get rid of this headache. Didn’t he have a few GP’s on the church books? Maybe they could get him some nice medicines, wouldn’t be the first time. A lovely Xanax, that would be nice.

  “Anna,” said PC Kane to his colleague, “is that your normal torch?”

  Anna, aka PC Koralova came over to Kane and held up the long, thin tube she was holding. “No, it’s new. I paid a hundred quid for it, but it’ll last for hours and it’s guaranteed to survive being smashed into someone’s head.”

  “Yeah, but if it breaks you won’t be around to collect the guarantee.”

  “Aren’t you a ray of fucking sunshine.”

  “Teasing.”

  “I know.”

  “So, where did they report hearing this scream from?”

  “It was someone walking, and they reckon one of two houses. 23 here, or 25 next to it.”

  “Right, so, shall we go inside the one with the open door?”

  “Yeah, your genius has saved us the sniffer dogs.”

  “I think we sold all those to keep the lights on.”

  Torch up, light on, Koralova walked up to the dark interior and looked in. The door was indeed open but hadn’t been forced in any way. There was nothing unusual about the interior, and a flick of a switch turned the hall light on. She stepped in and peered around the corners. She had her hand at the front of the tubular torch, ready to smack anything that leapt out at her with the back end. That was the whole selling point of it. With her other hand she reached out and flicked the light for the living room and found it wouldn’t come on. Torch up, she saw that the living room light was smashed.

  Kane came up behind his partner and looked at the other exit, which went into a kitchen. There were still the steps upstairs, but feeling they had everything covered they
walked into the living room. A large sofa, a glass table, a pair of feet sticking out from…

  Oh, a pair of feet.

  Still being careful, making sure no one was in the room to attack them, they moved in a circle and shone their lights on the body. A short, dwarf like man, bald but with wrinkles, his corpse lay on the ground. No one needed to take a pulse to see the purple face, the wide staring eyes, the burn marks in a ring around his neck, the torn fingers that must have grasped at an attacker.

  “Yeah, we’ve got a dead one.”

  Koralova spoke into her radio. “Alright, it’s PC Koralova, we’re going to need the MCU. This one definitely didn’t kill themselves. Also, an ambulance, but it doesn’t need to rush. This chap’s not going anywhere unless we carry him.”

  “We could roll him. He’s round,” Kane noted.

  “Don’t body shame the corpse.”

  “He doesn’t mind. He really doesn’t. Look at him.”

  “He might be haunting us. He might be looking at us swearing his head off and you just insulted him cos he’s fat.”

  “You said he’s fat. I said he’s round. Cos he’s round. You said fat.”

  “Yeah, anyway, HQ, send the MCU. Whatever shape he is, he’s been murdered.”

  “Ah, here you are,” Kane said to the detective walking up the path towards him.

  “Yes, well, I would have been here quicker except my sat nav doesn’t have this new estate and I’d gone past before I realised. Twice. Still nice to see you too Henry.”

  “And you Rob. Not good circumstances I’m afraid. We’ve got a dead one.”

  “Okay, take me to it and let’s have a look.”

  “Well, the entry was the front door. All windows and back door secure. This door not forced, so I’d guess the victim knew the killer, or had a good reason to open the door.”

  “Yeah, I’d agree with that,” Lindleman said looking at the lock and fittings. “One of these Yale things, doesn’t need the key from inside, just turn the button.”