Be Not Afraid (9781301650996) Read online

  Be Not Afraid

  Tim Ellis

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  Smashwords Edition

  Copyright 2012 Timothy Stephen Ellis

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  Smashwords Edition, License Notes

  This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to Amazon and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

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  All the characters in this book are fictitious, and any resemblance to actual persons living or dead, is purely coincidental.

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  Books written by Tim Ellis can be obtained either through the author’s official website: http://timellis.weebly.com/ at Smashwords.com or through online book retailers.

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  To Pam, with love as always

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  A big thank you to proofreaders James Godber and Steve Jones

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  Be not afraid of them, for I am with you and will rescue you.

  Acts 26:17

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  Chapter One

  Monday, 25th February

  ‘You’ve been invited, Parish.’ the Chief said.

  ‘To the Women’s Institute for their AGM again? Don’t tell me, they want me to talk about all the grisly murders I’ve investigated since the last time I frightened the life out of them.’

  ‘You’ve been invited as well, Richards.’

  ‘I don’t think I want to talk to a load of old fuddy-duddy women about knitting and needlepoint.’

  Parish looked at her. His face creased up. ‘What do you know about knitting and needlepoint?’

  ‘Nothing at all. That’s why I don’t want to talk about them.’

  ‘If you two have quite finished?’

  ‘When you’re ready, Chief,’ Parish said.

  Kowalski took a swallow of his coffee. ‘The FBI at Quantico have heard about all the work you two have been doing with serial killers...’

  ‘You make it sound as if we’re running an outreach programme. Helping serial killers to come to terms with their affliction, and to re-integrate them back into society.’

  ‘There’s just one problem with that scenario...’

  ‘I know, but... It’s hardly our fault most of them have ended up dead.’

  ‘Anyway, they’d like you both to go over there. They’re having a symposium on how different cultures approach the serial killer phenomenon. They’d like you to give a forty-five minute presentation.’

  ‘Just you, not me?’ Richards said. ‘I couldn’t stand on a stage in front of a million people and speak. I’ll sit in the audience and cheer you on.’

  ‘Heckle me, more like. Anyway, the Chief did not say that I had to give the presentation on my own. You can wear one of those sequinned itzy-bitzy bikinis, and point at the slides as they appear. You’ll be my able assistant. It’ll distract them long enough for me to waffle my way to the end, and when they leave they’ll only remember you prancing about the stage in a swimsuit. They’ll love it, and cheer and clap at the end.’

  ‘As if. What about mum and Jack?’

  ‘No, your mother holding Jack won’t add anything to the presentation.’

  ‘Listen,’ Kowalski said. ‘Here’s the deal. The Chief Constable has spoken to the Police Commissioner, who has had a conversation with the Home Secretary, who brought it up at a Cabinet Meeting, and they want you two to go. The Prime Minister thinks it’ll be excellent for British-American relations, which as you know are at a low ebb after the MI6 leak fiasco. I explained to the Chief Constable about your recent problems, and he understands. He said he’s willing to dip into his meagre entertainment budget and fund the trip, which will include Angie, Jack, and that hot nanny you’ve acquired.’

  ‘Chief Kowalski!’ Richards reprimanded him. ‘As a DCI, you’re not meant to say things like that.’

  He smiled. ‘I know, which makes it all the more exciting.’

  Parish helped himself to another coffee. ‘So, when is this symposium meant to be taking place?’

  ‘Friday.’

  ‘But it’s Monday now,’ Richards said aghast.

  ‘I know. You fly out from Gatwick at eight-thirty tomorrow morning. See Carrie on the way out, she has your tickets. You fly back next Tuesday.’

  Parish nearly choked on his coffee. ‘You’re joking.’

  ‘There’s also a thousand pounds spending money, which will of course be deducted from your wages in twelve equal parts.’

  ‘And once we’ve done this presentation?’ Parish said.

  ‘Well, the symposium lasts two days, but then you’re free to do what you want... just so long as you bring me back some of those gourmet jelly beans, and Jerry would like some expensive perfume... So, why are you still sitting here like blocks of concrete, don’t you have to pack or something?’

  Parish jumped up, and started dancing towards the door as if he’d just invented the hokey-cokey. ‘All together now:

  You put your right hand in,

  You put your right hand out,

  In out, in out,

  Shake it all about...’

  Carrie deposited a brown envelope into his hand as he danced past her.

  Richards tagged on the back of him and said, ‘Are you sure you’ve got the words right?’

  ‘Do I look like a man who cares, Richards?’ he said, and then started singing something completely different.

  ‘Whoo, we’re going to America

  Whoo, flying away on coconut airways

  Whoo, far away from Hoddesdon and the rain

  Whoo, fly me high, American sky...’

  ‘And those are definitely not the right words,’ she said laughing.

  ***

  ‘I’ll never pack in time,’ Angie said, and burst into tears.

  They were sitting at the kitchen table with a fresh cup of tea. He wasn’t really a tea drinker, but he didn’t mind it now and again – for a change.

  Jed took her hands in his. ‘I’m tempted to leave you here.’

  ‘That’s not very nice.’

  ‘So that I don’t cause you all this stress.’

  ‘You think I’m not up to it?’

  ‘You know that’s not what I meant.’

  ‘And there’s Digby, and my appointment at the clinic, and I don’t know if I’ve got enough tablets, and...’

  ‘Stop!’

  ‘What?’

  ‘I’ll sort it all out. You go to the bedroom and pack enough for one week... not a month – one week. I’ll send Mary in to help you. Don’t worry about Jack, Alicia Mae will pack for him. I’ll ring the clinic to re-arrange your appointment, speak to the doctor about additional tablets, sort Digby out with kennels and drive him round there, and...’

  ‘Passports!’

  ‘What about them?’

  ‘Where are they? Are they still in date? Don’t we need a visa to get into America? Jack’s not on my passport... Has Alicia Mae got...?’

  ‘Weren’t you meant to be in your bedroom packing?’

  ‘Sorry.’

  He touched her face. ‘The Americans have provided clearance. Everything will be fine. Go up to the bedroom and start packing your glad rags.’

  ‘Do I need a bikini?’

  ‘We’ll be nowhere near the sea, but I’m sure I wouldn’t object if you wanted to wear it in the hotel room.’

  ‘You’re a letch.’

  ‘In fact, thinking
about you in that bikini has given me the urge to lie down...’

  She hit him playfully on the arm. ‘And then I’d never get anything packed.’

  Richards came in flustered. ‘I’m never going to be ready in time.’

  ‘Don’t you start,’ Parish said. ‘You only need your sequinned bikini, and that’ll fit in your wash bag.’

  ‘As if.’

  ‘Help your mother pack.’

  ‘But...’

  He gave her a look. How quickly we forget, he thought.

  ‘Oh, of course. Come on, mum, let’s go and pack your case.’

  After they’d left to go upstairs he went through into the living room to speak to Alicia Mae, who was sitting on the sofa reading.

  ‘Are you okay with the trip to America?’ he said.

  She smiled. ‘Of course. It’s only for a week. I’m looking forward to it.’

  ‘You’ll have your own hotel room.’

  ‘And Jack will be in the room with me?’

  ‘Yes, but we’ll arrange for time off.’

  ‘That will be good. I’d like to do some shopping.’

  ‘What about packing, passport...?’

  ‘All done.’

  ‘Oh, okay.’

  He left her reading, and returned to the kitchen to make the necessary phone calls. Angie’s appointment at the clinic was simply cancelled. A week’s holiday in America would be far more therapeutic than lying on the psychiatrist’s couch for an hour. He arranged to pick up an extra box of Angie’s medication later, and booked Digby into the local kennels.

  ‘Sorry, Digby old boy, but I can’t take you with me. You know I would if I could, but I can’t. And anyway, you wouldn’t like it over there. They have bears, alligators, and cats... lots of cats. And we’re not talking about small cats either. Yeah, you’re better off staying here. Polly Reeves at the kennels will look after you, and I’ll pay for you to go first class. You never know, you might meet someone... and when I say “someone” I mean a young lady...’

  He took Digby’s lead off the hook. ‘First though, you and I need to have a dad and dog talk...’

  ***

  ‘What am I going to tell the Americans about serial killers that they don’t already know, Digby?’

  Digby ignored him, and carried on sniffing the clumps of weeds along their regular route, leaving his scent in appropriate places.

  ‘I mean, wasn’t the term “serial killer” coined over there? Oh, I know there’s some debate about who used the term first. In fact, there’s even a debate about what a serial killer is. But I think generally, everyone’s got the idea that it’s a person who kills two or more people on separate occasions.’

  He nodded and smiled at two old women as they passed him arm in arm. Both women stared at him as if he were the local serial killer eyeing up victims. ‘Lovely day,’ he offered. In fact, it wasn’t a lovely day at all. There were low hung clouds, and it was a day for depressives to rejoice.

  ‘The FBI are the recognised experts in serial killers you know, Digby. If there’s even a hint of one anywhere in America, the FBI swoops in. Is it just me, or is it getting colder, Digby?’ He shrugged further into his coat. ‘Well, I think the prudent course of action would be to simply tell them about my cases. It started with Terry Reynolds. Or did it? Was he really a serial killer? His motive was revenge, but did he meet the other criteria? He certainly killed more than two people; the murders were committed as separate events; he acted alone; the victims were killed in similar fashion; and they all had something in common. Hmmm, classifying serial killers is not that easy, Digby. I mean, I knew Terry Reynolds, and he was a nice guy… Yeah, all right. You’re going to say, “So was Ted Bundy.” Okay, you’ve got me. Someone who kills two or more people isn’t very nice at all, I suppose.’

  He waved at Mrs Traci Hohenstein from number 97 on the opposite side of the road. She was wearing a paisley headscarf, a Barbour jacket, and corduroy trousers tucked in brown wellington boots. A German shepherd called Gunther – with a mind of its own – was dragging her along in the opposite direction.

  ‘Then, of course, there was Ruben Millhaven. Well, he was certainly a serial killer, but he didn’t act alone did he? We now know that Father Peter Runnt was pulling his strings. And besides punishing his female victims for their purported sins, there was also a sexual element to the killings. Richards was lucky to get out of there in one piece though, Digby.’

  The crazy Faith Mortimer from number 115 was hanging out of an upstairs window waving at him like a demented window cleaner. ‘Yoo-hoo, Inspector Parish.’

  He smiled and waved back. She’d once told him that she was related to Alice Burnham – the second “Bride in the Bath” victim of George Joseph Smith in 1913.

  Digby growled. For some strange reason he didn’t like crazy people.

  ‘And then we had those group of people who feasted on their victims, which were mainly children. Could they be classified as serial killers?’

  The dog barked.

  ‘No, I don’t know either, old fella. They meet some of the criteria, but not others. Maybe they were cannibals, and not serial killers, or maybe they were both. Next, there was Joseph St. John and Adrian Alva. Yes, they were definitely serial killers, but they were acting together… In fact, I think you’ve hit the nail on the head, old boy. Trying to slot murderers into pre-defined circles, squares, or triangles is fraught with difficulty. I think I’m going to use that as my theme. Serial killers are many and varied, just like the rest of humanity. There was also David Maitland. He was definitely a serial killer, but with a very odd agenda. Yeah, some of these people know exactly what they’re doing, while others inhabit a different reality from the rest of us. That Russian – Dmitriy Lytkin – for instance, sending babies back to his mother in Russia, and Karen Kincaid thinking she could take somebody else’s baby. Yes, there are definitely some crazy people out there, Digby.’

  He turned the corner and was just a short walk to the house.

  ‘Well, you’ve been a great help, Digby. Now, it’s my turn to give you the benefit of my limited experience. I know that if you meet the right girl in the kennels, you’ll have an idea of what to do, but nothing’s ever that simple.’

  Digby turned his head, and cocked an ear.

  ‘You might think it is, but it’s not. You can’t go with just any girl who wags her tail at you – oh no. The trouble is, Digby you’re special. Oh, I don’t mean special to daddy – of course you are. You’re special in another way – you’re a pedigree. Now, I know that in the heat of the moment you won’t care about that, but if you don’t, you’ll end up with some strange looking progeny. And don’t come to me later all hangdog pretending I didn’t warn you, because I’ll have no sympathy. So, there’s the long and the short of it, old boy. By all means sow some seeds, but be a bit choosy – oh, and I won’t even mention some of the diseases those mongrels will give you as a keepsake.’

  He reached the house, opened the front door, and let Digby in.

  ‘You took your time,’ Angie said as he was hanging his coat up.

  ‘Digby and I had some things to discuss.’

  ‘You mean…?’

  ‘Yes. What about you?’

  ‘All packed.’

  ‘Excellent. Your appointment is cancelled by the way, and I’m picking up more tablets from the surgery when I take Digby to the kennels.’

  ‘Mary and I have worked it out.’

  ‘Oh?’

  ‘The plane takes off from Gatwick at eight-thirty. We have to be at the airport to check-in by five-thirty. It takes one hour twenty minutes to drive to the airport – say an hour and a half – which will be four o’clock. We’ll have to get up and get ready – say an hour, so we have to be up at three o’clock. We need eight hours sleep, which takes us back to seven o’clock tonight…’

  ‘Don’t forget an hour to say goodnight.’

  ‘An hour!’ She grinned. ‘You don’t normally take an hour. Let’s say ten t
o seven…’

  He closed the gap between them. ‘I think you need to be re-acquainted with Jed Parish the stud…’

  ‘Oh God, how gross is that?’ Richards said as she came into the kitchen. ‘I’ll end up back in therapy if you carry on like that.’

  ‘You weren’t meant to be listening.’

  ‘But I was. Maybe you need to display warning signs to let me know when you’re going to burst into action. Like they do when cleaners are mopping the floor, but instead you could have something like: “Old man trying to get woman into bed – Danger of psychological damage, involuntary vomiting, seizures, migraine…’

  They all burst out laughing.

  ‘Talking of which…’ Parish said. ‘How’s it going with Toadstone?’

  ‘We went out that one time, but…’

  ‘But?’

  ‘He didn’t make my heart race.’

  ‘You weren’t doing aerobics.’

  ‘To be honest, I wish I had been.’

  Angie patted Mary’s arm. ‘Don’t worry, dear. Maybe you’ll find a nice man in America.’

  ‘She doesn’t want a nice man, Angie. She wants someone who lives on the edge, who’s both rough and smooth, who inhabits the light and the dark…’

  ‘You mean like you?’ Angie said.

  ‘They say that girls marry men who are like their fathers. I know I’m not her biological father, but…’

  ‘I am still here, you know.’

  ‘What do you think, dear? Do you want someone like, Jed?’