House of Mourning (9781301227112) Read online

‘Have you heard from Cookie?’

  ‘No. She’s been working for you. Why would she phone me?’

  ‘I don’t know, but she’s not answering her phone.’

  ‘As an officer of the court I pretend not to know how Cookie gets her information, but one can imagine that she gets into situations and places where a ringing phone would be a bit of a hazard.’

  ‘Yeah, I suppose you’re right.’

  ‘Aren’t I always?’

  ‘I’ll take the fifth.’

  ‘About six months into your training, you’ll learn that the UK doesn’t actually have a fifth amendment.’

  ‘Well, it should.’

  ‘I’d give it until the end of the day.’

  ‘Then what?’

  ‘Then we make some enquiries. I have a couple of back-up numbers she gave me a while back.’

  ‘Okay. Thanks, Charlie.’

  ‘How’s it going?’

  ‘Don’t ask. I have to write an essay on the Doctrine of Frustration by Friday.’

  ‘I have one that I prepared earlier if you’re interested?’

  ‘You know I’m not that type of girl.’

  ‘I know, that’s why I offered. Good luck.’

  ‘Thanks.’

  She had a message from Ray to ring her. She smiled. Last night had been a revelation. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d said no to Ray or to sex – she loved both. She rang him.

  ‘What do you want?’ was her opening gambit. If he thought he could charm his way into her panties he could think again.

  ‘You know what I want.’

  ‘And you know what I want before you get what you want.’

  ‘Parish and Richards have gone to Buckhurst Hill to talk to your Lorna Boyce.’

  ‘I see. And how will that help?’

  ‘Well . . .’

  ‘Once they leave she’ll be in the same position as she was before their visit, won’t she?’

  ‘Darling . . .’

  ‘Her claims that somebody is trying kill her need to be investigated, Ray. Are Jed and Mary going to conduct an investigation, or simply reassure her that everything will be all right?’

  ‘You know my hands are tied.’

  ‘I can think of something else you should tie a knot in.’

  ‘Jerry.’

  ‘See you later, Ray.’ She ended the call.

  He was making an effort, she supposed. Jed and Mary were certainly better than nobody. If the killer knew where Lorna was and he saw that the police were involved, then he might back off.

  She had the idea that she might give Ray some relief tonight, but that’s what he was hoping for. He’d give her a bit of what she wanted, but in return expected everything from her. No, she mustn’t weaken. She was Lorna Boyce’s only hope. How bad would it be if she gave in to Ray and her desires, and then Lorna was killed? She’d feel like the worst kind of whore.

  All or nothing! That would be her motto from now on. No more sitting on the fence. No more giving in on the slightest whim. No more Jerry nice person. She had a lot to offer, but nobody was getting pieces of Jerry Kowalski for free anymore.

  ‘You’re tea has gone cold,’ Julie Wilkinson said from across the table.

  Julie had latched onto her like a barnacle onto the hull of a boat. She had no idea why. Julie was twenty, Jerry was closer to forty than she was to thirty. Maybe Julie thought of her as a substitute mother.

  ‘It wasn’t very nice anyway,’ she said.

  ‘Would you like me to get you another one?’

  ‘It’s good of you to offer, but no thanks.’

  ‘Trouble at home?’

  She’d known Julie for all of a month, and was hardly going to tell her what she and Ray got up to – or didn’t get up to – in bed. Didn’t she have a life of her own? She noticed the other students heading back towards the stairs. ‘I suppose we’d better go,’ she said standing up.

  ‘Who’s Cookie?’

  ‘I don’t mean to be rude, Julie, but why are you asking?’

  ‘Just being friendly. That’s what friends do – tell each other everything.’

  ‘We’re not that type of friends, Julie. I hardly know you, and I’m here to work not make friends.’

  ‘Sometimes friendships just happen.’

  Julie wasn’t getting the message. Maybe the best thing to do was simply ignore her. At lunchtime she’d go off on her own. Sooner or later the penny would drop.

  ***

  ‘Why is Jerry getting involved with a woman someone is trying to kill? I thought she was meant to be studying law.’

  They were driving along the A110 between the King George’s and William Girling Reservoirs towards Buckhurst Hill.

  ‘Can I have an easier question?’

  ‘Why are we getting involved with someone who isn’t dead yet?’

  ‘We’re helping our friend the Chief.’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘Because he asked us to.’

  ‘No, he asked you. He didn’t ask me. If you recall, he sent me out of the room.’

  ‘That’s because . . .’

  ‘Because what?’

  ‘He wanted to ask me for a personal favour. He’s done favours for me – and you – without asking why. Remember when that slimeball from the lab hit you?’

  ‘How could I forget?’

  ‘Well, Ray and I went round to his house and gave him a right thumping.’

  ‘I knew that.’

  ‘That’s what friends do. They don’t ask why, they just drop everything and come running.’

  ‘He knows I would have helped him, so why did he ask me to leave?’

  ‘A personal matter.’

  ‘I’m listening.’

  ‘A personal matter,’ he repeated.

  ‘I’m still listening.’

  ‘You’re not going to give up, are you?’

  ‘You’d lose all respect for me if I did.’

  ‘Jerry has asked him to look into the woman’s claim that someone is trying to kill her.’

  ‘Which would be a misappropriation of resources, and the Chief would know that.’

  ‘Exactly, and that’s why this visit is unofficial.’

  ‘It’s about sex, isn’t it?’

  ‘You have a mind like a sewer, Richards.’

  She laughed and clapped her hands together.

  ‘Try to remember that you’re a police officer, and that you’re driving.’

  ‘Jerry asked him to help her, he said he couldn’t, she said no sex until he did, he grovelled, she said he’d get some after he helped her – voilà! Here we are, and the Chief is going to get . . .’

  ‘I don’t think we need to be too graphic about what the Chief might be getting for his supper tonight. Let’s talk about you and Toadstone. So, you’re going out with him again.’

  ‘So it would seem.’

  ‘Is he the one?’

  ‘No. He knows he’s not the one.’

  ‘Does he? So, why are you giving him false hope?’

  ‘Hope is a funny thing.’

  ‘Pandora made sure that it was all mankind had left to hold onto.’

  ‘Do you think false hope is better than no hope?’

  ‘Is a lie better than the truth?’

  ‘Is it?’

  ‘Put yourself in Toadstone’s wellies. Would you like a lie or the truth?’

  ‘The truth hurts – I know.’

  ‘The truth hurts for a little while, but a lie hurts forever.’

  ‘You’re saying I should tell him?’

  ‘I’m not saying anything. You know the difference between the truth and a lie. You’ll do the right thing.’

  They arrived at the women’s refuge on Russell Road and pressed the bell.

  A bald overweight security guard appeared.

  Richards showed her warrant card.

  The guard let them in.

  ‘Lorna Boyce, please,’ she said.

  ‘Room seven on the third floor.’ He point
ed to the lift.

  ‘It looks like she has enough protection here,’ Richards said when the doors closed and they began moving up.

  ‘What happens if she goes outside?’

  ‘Do you think the killer knows she’s here?’

  ‘Do I look like a clairvoyant?

  ‘Are clairvoyants ugly?’

  ‘And from what Kowalski was saying, this is merely a temporary solution.’

  ‘Meaning?’

  ‘Well, if there is someone trying to kill this woman, how long before the killer gives up? How long is temporary?’

  ‘Mmmm.’

  The doors opened. They walked along the corridor to number seven and knocked.

  ‘She’s in the sitting room at the end of the corridor,’ a woman said pointing back over her shoulder.

  Parish leaned against the wall. ‘Go and get her, and bring her back here.’

  ‘Why me? I’m meant to be in charge.’

  ‘You’re younger and fitter, and you can show me how it’s done.’

  She set off towards the sitting room. ‘Sometimes . . .’

  ‘You realise it was the best day of your life when you met me?’

  ‘Not even close.’

  Richards introduced Lorna Boyce.

  They all went into the room.

  ‘I haven’t got much, but I could make you coffee or a tea.’

  ‘No that’s fine,’ Richards said. ‘Do you want to tell us what’s been going on?’

  Parish made himself comfortable in the easy chair. Lorna sat on the single bed and Richards perched on the small round coffee table opposite Lorna.

  Lorna told them what she’d told Jerry, what Jerry had relayed to the Chief, what he had told Parish and what Parish had shared with Richards – the story remained consistent in the telling.

  ‘And you have no idea who might want you dead?’ Richards began.

  ‘None.’

  ‘You’ve thought about it?’

  ‘I’ve thought of nothing else since I crashed my car into that wall.’

  ‘Have you got lots of money?’

  Lorna shook her head.

  ‘Do you have any rich relatives?’

  ‘I wish.’

  ‘No inheritance on its way?’

  ‘You think it’s about money?’

  ‘I’m exploring the possible motives why someone might want to kill you. Money is at the top of the list. What about love or sex?’

  ‘Yes, I’d like some of that please.’

  Richards smiled. ‘Wouldn’t we all. What about a jilted boyfriend? Or an affair with someone else?’

  ‘I have an ex-husband who I divorced about two years ago – a loser. Haven’t seen him since. His name’s Andy Towell. I reverted to my maiden name. I’ve had my current boyfriend – Keith Hookey – for nine months, and I hope I’ve still got him when this is over. I know it’s hard to believe, but he thinks I’m a supermodel in disguise.’

  ‘He has no reason to see you dead?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘You’ve not cheated on him?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘Do you think anyone is jealous of you? An ex-lover of your boyfriend? Someone at work? Someone whose job you took? Someone who would benefit from your death?’

  She shook her head. ‘No one’s jealous of me. My life is boring. I’m not even jealous of me.’

  ‘Have you upset anyone? Would anyone want to take revenge for something you did to them – real or implied?’

  ‘The people I upset slap your face, or throw their drink over you – they don’t kill you.’

  ‘What’s clear,’ Parish interrupted them. ‘Is that whoever is trying to kill you wants to make it look like an accident. A faulty cooker exploding, or the brake pipe of an old car snapping wouldn’t raise any eyebrows. So, if your death was deemed to be murder, who would we point the finger at?’

  Lorna shrugged. ‘We’ve covered everybody, haven’t we?’

  ‘Which leaves your work. What is it that they actually do there?’

  ‘They supply wholesale meat, game and poultry to the hospitality and catering industry throughout the UK.’

  ‘And where does the meat come from?’

  ‘Different countries in Eastern Europe: Estonia, Lithuania, Georgia, Belarus and some others I can’t remember. You know about the four workers getting extra money on top of their pay, don’t you?’

  Richards looked at Parish and then said, ‘No. Did you tell Jerry?’

  ‘She told me. She said that Cookie had found it out.’

  ‘Who’s Cookie?’ Richards asked.

  Lorna’s forehead creased up. ‘Haven’t you spoken to Jerry?’

  ‘Is that all Jerry said?’ Parish asked.

  ‘No, she said that all three of Winton’s directors had skeletons.’

  ‘Such as?’

  ‘She didn’t tell me that.’

  Nobody said anything for a minute and then Parish pushed himself out of the chair. ‘We don’t normally investigate attempted murders, but we’ll go and ask some questions at your place of work.’

  ‘And speak to Jerry?’

  ‘Yes, we’ll find out exactly what Jerry and this Cookie know.’

  ‘Good.’

  ‘In the meantime, you’re to stay in this building.’

  ‘You think they know I’m here?’

  ‘We don’t know who’s trying to kill you. It could be anyone. At least in here you’re protected. If you went outside . . .’ He left her to imagine the possibilities.

  ‘I’ll stay inside, but I can’t stay here forever. I have a life, even if it is boring.’

  ‘We’re well aware of that. Let’s see what we uncover, shall we?’

  Lorna walked them to the lift.

  ‘Thanks for your help. I’m very grateful.’

  ‘Remember, stay inside,’ Parish said as the lift doors closed.

  ‘What do you think, Sir?’

  ‘I think we’ll be doing ourselves out of a job if we make a habit of investigating murders before they happen.’

  Chapter Twelve

  As soon as she stepped through the rusty metal door she left the light behind. She was in a tunnel. It was just wide enough and high enough for one person to travel in one direction only. If someone had wanted to pass, it would have been a tight squeeze. If that person had been obese, the two of them would have been stuck in the tunnel forever.

  She could hear her heart thumping as she moved forwards using her hands like antennae in front of her. There must be lights, but she didn’t know how to switch them on. There was an overpowering smell of rotting mould, and she was breathing like a chronic asthmatic.

  Another train flew past in the underground tunnel behind her. She wondered where it had come from, where it was going. There were people on that train. People who led uncomplicated lives. People who were oblivious to the events unfolding in the maze of tunnels beside the railway track. People who knew nothing of her dead friends Harley and Romeo, who had no idea that Susan (Cookie) Bunyan was stumbling through the darkness looking for revenge.

  Her hands flailed in the air. She touched the rough damp stone of the left-hand wall feeling for tactile clues. Her hand turned a corner. It was the same on her right side. She moved forward with her hands in front of her – the tunnel carried on. She was standing at a crossroads.

  Now what?

  Which way should she go?

  There was nothing to guide her - she had no point of reference. There were no audible, visual, olfactory or tactile clues. If she turned around, she’d completely lose all sense of where she was. She imagined that this was what it would be like in a sensory deprivation chamber.

  The only thing she could do was to keep on walking in a straight line. At least then she could find her way back. If she turned left or right, she’d be lost. She just had to hope that following a straight line led her to somewhere she wanted to be.

  She stepped into the middle of the crossroads and listened first left and then righ
t – nothing. It was the only decision she could make. She carried on shuffling forward.

  How long had she been walking?

  Her stomach was rumbling and her mouth was dry.

  What time was it? The bastards had taken her limited edition cookie monster watch. Just one more reason to make them pay.

  She passed a left turn, a right turn, two more crossroads and then she reached a dead end where she sat down and cried.

  It wasn’t often that she cried, but sometimes – when she was on her own – it was the right thing to do. As a child she’d soon learned that none of it worked – crying, praying, begging, screaming – she’d tried everything. Her father had still raped and tortured her. Well, she’d made him pay. The one thing that worked was revenge. Yes, she carried the psychological and physical scars of what he’d done to her, but knowing that he was dead – and that she was responsible for his death – made the scars more bearable.

  Now, it was someone else’s turn to pay with their lives for abusing her and killing her friends – she just needed to find them.

  After drying her eyes on the sleeve she’d previously wiped her runny nose on, she stood up and retraced her steps to the last crossroads. She turned 360 degrees, so that she was facing the dead end again. She needed to keep a picture in her mind of where she was. If she failed to find where the men had gone, at least she could return to the train tunnel and find a way to the surface that way.

  ‘Left or right?’

  She turned left. Why she turned left, she had no idea. Left – just seemed right.

  Slowly, she felt her way in a straight line again. More left turns, right turns, crossroads that she ignored. The place was a labyrinth. If only she had a ball of golden thread. She reached another dead end. Backtracked to a crossroads, but this time turned right, and soon began moving upwards.

  A noise reached her.

  After hours of only hearing her own breathing, she had to stop and strain her ears to listen.

  She heard the noise again. It sounded like the soft hum of an engine – a motor.

  Her heart rate increased. Had she found an exit? Had she found the men she was looking for?

  She squatted to pee. What else could she do?

  A chicken salad wrap or two and a diet coke would have been good just about now.

  She stopped herself from running, but quickened her pace.

  The sound of the motor grew louder and louder. She didn’t mind – after so much silence it was good to be deafened.