Through a Glass Darkly (9781301753000) Read online

  ‘Can you fly a plane, Madam?’

  ‘I might be able to.’

  The stewardess walked away.

  ‘I’m going to make a complaint.’

  ‘I think you should apologise for your shabby behaviour on the way out.’

  ‘Will not.’ She shuffled sideways, turned her head and stared out of the window.

  He closed his eyes and tried to sleep. She was a bloody nightmare when it came to men, but he had no idea what the answer was.

  ***

  ‘Why are you lying low?’

  Koll screwed up her eyes and stared at him.

  ‘Who says I’m lying low?’

  ‘The Chief.’

  ‘I suppose he had to tell you. I’ve been told by Professional Standards not to tell anyone.’

  They were sitting in the squad room finishing off the paperwork from their last case. The Crime Prosecution Service were trying to hurry them along, and the Chief was breathing down their neck.

  ‘Professional Standards! I see.’

  ‘You don’t see, but . . . seeing as you’re my partner . . .’

  ‘Interim partner . . . A bit like Rafa Benitez being Chelsea’s interim manager.’

  ‘Chelsea who?’

  ‘You don’t watch football?’

  ‘Do you know any women who watch football?’

  Hmmm. Jen didn’t like football. He hadn’t spoken to Xena about football, but she’d never mentioned it in the time they’d been partners. As far as he knew, Mary Richards didn’t like football. ‘No, I suppose not.’

  ‘Football is the worst game in the world.’

  ‘Do you know anything about football?’

  ‘Not a damn thing.’

  ‘How can you say it’s the worst game in the world then?’

  ‘I can say whatever I like. I particularly don’t like the way the England team can’t seem to keep hold of the ball.’

  ‘I thought you didn’t know anything about football.’

  ‘I don’t.’

  ‘I see.’ DC Koll was all right, but he missed Xena.

  It was a week since she had been rushed back into theatre. Since then, she’d been in a coma. The doctor had said that the emergency was caused by internal bleeding, which was one of the complications of a hysterectomy. It sounded like medical negligence to him. If she died, he’d consult a solicitor.

  Each night – after work – he called into the hospital to sit and talk to her. It wasn’t the same as having a fully-functioning Xena. For a start, it was a lot quieter because the conversation went only one way. He missed her calling him Stick, Stickamundo and all the other derivations that she seemed to come up with. And in a weird way, he missed being called numpty as well. None of the names were very flattering, but to him it meant that she cared. If she didn’t care, she wouldn’t have bothered thinking up the names in the first place.

  DC Isolde Koll called him Sarge – it just wasn’t the same. He liked being a DS, but he wanted to be Xena’s DS. Being a DS in charge of cases and having a partner to order about was a bit scary.

  They’d offered him promotion in Special Ops, but he’d declined their kind offer. That was one of the reasons he’d transferred to Hoddesdon MIT – he was happy being a follower, not a leader.

  ‘DS Gilbert?’ the Chief called from the door.

  ‘Sir?’

  ‘My office . . . and you Koll.’

  They followed the Chief along the corridor to his office.

  ‘You don’t need to sit,’ he said sitting behind his desk. ‘This won’t take long. A body of sorts has been found.’

  ‘Of sorts?’ Koll asked.

  ‘Forensics are already on their way to a bus stop on Monkham’s Lane in Woodford Green.’

  ‘A bus stop?’

  ‘Are you training your new partner to repeat everything I say, Gilbert?’

  ‘Interim partner, Sir. DI Blake isn’t dead yet.’

  ‘Don’t get all protective, Gilbert. You’ve not heard then?’

  ‘Heard what?’

  ‘She’s awake.’

  ‘Awake?’

  ‘Don’t you start.’

  He beamed. ‘That’s great news, Sir.’

  ‘I thought they would have notified you.’

  ‘So did I. They had my number. I told them I was her next of kin.’

  ‘Oh well, you know now, anyway. Get over to Woodford Green and take charge.’

  ‘You didn’t answer my question, Sir,’ Koll said.

  ‘Which one?’

  ‘What did you mean by, “A body of sorts”?’

  ‘Two plastic bags full of body parts apparently, but that’s the least of it. Listen Koll, I’m not here to be interrogated. If you hadn’t noticed, I’m the Chief and you’re an interim partner from Shrub End. Get her out of here Gilbert, before I forget what a wonderful person I am.’

  ‘Have a good day, Sir,’ Stick said as he pushed Koll out through the door.

  ‘We don’t get weird murders or serial killers in Shrub End. You’re really lucky being here.’

  ‘Lucky? I’d hardly call it lucky. It’s like being in one of those hot spots around an electricity pylon or a mobile phone transmission mast. For some reason, this part of Essex seems to attract serial killers. We’ve had some really strange murders here. Well, when I say “We”, I mean mostly DI Parish and Constable Richards.’

  ‘Why do they get all the good cases?’

  He shrugged. ‘They’ve been here longer than me and DI Blake, and the Chief and Parish are best friends I think.’

  ‘That’s hardly a sound basis for allocating cases.’

  ‘Well, Parish and Richards aren’t here now, so we’ve been allocated the interesting case.’

  ‘They’re not going to come back and take it off us, are they?’

  ‘I shouldn’t think so. You never said why you were lying low?’

  ‘Shrub End is a cess pit.’

  ‘It’s dirty and smells of . . . ?’

  ‘No, not the station . . . the people in it. Everyone was on the take.’

  ‘Everyone?’

  ‘More or less.’

  He stopped walking and stared at her. ‘You’re going to testify against them, aren’t you?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘They’ve threatened to kill you, and that’s why you’re in hiding here?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Bloody hell!’

  Chapter Two

  He stood to one side to let Richards go first. People were filling up the aisle in front of them and recovering their hand luggage from the overhead storage compartments. He’d thought he was going to die when the aircraft banked and plummeted a million feet just before the wheels screeched on the runway.

  ‘Remember, you’re going to apologise on your way out,’ he said.

  ‘I never said anything of the sort.’

  ‘No, but I’m saying it. Either apologise, or I’ll send you back to the UK on the next flight.’

  ‘You wouldn’t.’

  ‘You know I would. I’ll also write a report for your personnel file explaining in detail why I sent you back, and telephone your mother to make sure you don’t go to that wedding.’

  ‘I’m never going to talk to you again, you know.’

  ‘Don’t make promises you can’t keep.’

  ‘Huh!’

  ‘See.’

  As they approached the front exit he nudged her in the back. ‘That stewardess you’ve been horrible to the whole flight is there waiting for you.’

  ‘I hate you.’

  ‘I know.’

  The stewardess finished talking to and smiling at the mother and child in front of them, but when she turned and saw Richards her smile disappeared. ‘Oh, it’s you.’

  ‘Aren’t you going to ask if I enjoyed the flight?’ Richards asked.

  Parish nudged her in the back. ‘I think you have something else to say, don’t you?’

  ‘I’m very sorry for my behaviour.’

  �
�Have a pleasant stay on Cyprus, Madam,’ the stewardess said.

  ‘I’m sure we will,’ Parish said shaking her hand. ‘Thank you for your understanding.’

  While they’d been chatting to the stewardess the people in front of them had reached the bus on the runway and the passenger stairs were clear. Richards started to descend, but as she put her foot on the second step her ankle went over and slipped on the metal. Still holding onto her duty free bag she plummeted feet first down the stairs onto the concrete at the bottom.

  Parish raced down after her. ‘Are you all right?’

  ‘Oh God, I think I’ve broken my ankle.’

  He carefully lifted up her trouser leg, and could see her right ankle swelling as if somebody was busy pumping it up with a foot pump. ‘Divine retribution springs to mind,’ he mumbled.

  Richards burst into tears. ‘Don’t say that.’

  The stewardess had come down the stairs behind Parish. ‘Are you all right, Madam?’

  ‘Haven’t you got a plane to fly?’ Richards hissed through gritted teeth.

  ‘Ignore her,’ Parish said. ‘She’s in pain. She’ll need to go to a hospital.’

  ‘Leave it with me, Sir. I’ll ask the pilot to contact the tower and request an ambulance.’ She hurried back up the stairs.

  Thankfully, all the other passengers had continued on into the terminal building.

  An ambulance appeared within fifteen minutes. Two attendants jumped out of the front, opened up the back doors and pulled out a stretcher.

  Parish and an attendant helped Richards to stand on her good foot and then onto the stretcher.

  ‘Where are they taking me?’ Richards asked. ‘You’re coming with me, aren’t you? There was this film where the ambulance wasn’t a real ambulance. It picked up injured people and they disappeared.’

  The corner of his mouth went up. ‘I don’t think this ambulance is the one you’re thinking of.’ He looked at the attendant who had helped him lift Richards up. ‘Is it all right if I come with her?’

  He glanced at the stewardess.

  ‘I’m sorry, Sir. You will have to go through passport control for both of you. Madam will be taken to Larnaca Old General Hospital. You can follow on after you’ve been through the standard airport procedures and collected your luggage.’

  ‘An old hospital,’ Richards said. ‘Haven’t they got a new one they can take me to?’

  The two attendants pushed the stretcher back into the ambulance.

  Before the doors banged shut Parish called, ‘I’ll see you as soon as I can get through the airport formalities.’

  The ambulance drove off.

  ‘Don’t worry, Sir,’ the stewardess said. ‘She’ll be all right.’

  ‘I hope so. Thanks for all your help. What’s your name?’

  ‘Lydia . . . Lydia O’Brien.’

  ‘Well, Lydia . . . Lydia O’Brien, I’ll write to the Chairman of British Airways and tell him what a wonderful person you’ve been today.’

  Her face reddened. ‘There’s no need to do that, Sir.’

  ‘It’ll be my pleasure.’

  ***

  As well as attending university on Tuesdays and Thursdays, Jerry was also helping Charlie with a couple of his cases. Laura Evans was running the office under her guidance and everything was ticking over very nicely thank you. Most of the time, Charlie was dealing with the bread-and-butter cases, which was just fine. Between them, they were gradually building up the client list and getting a reputation as people who cared more about justice than money. Not that the money wasn’t rolling in – it was.

  Using Cookie to dig into people’s private lives was just fine if things were online, but sometimes they weren’t. Sometimes, it was prudent for someone to go out into the field – so to speak – to question witnesses, take photographs, talk to neighbours, examine the place where the events occurred and so on.

  Justice certainly wasn’t an exact science. Sometimes people got it wrong. So, it was important for someone to get out of the office and do the legwork. For example, Charlie had been defending a woman who was charged with breaking into her married boyfriend’s house through the cat flap and taking certain items belonging to his wife. Jerry had visited the woman, walked round the burgled house and examined the cat flap. It soon became obvious to Jerry that the police hadn’t done their homework, and because of what she found Charlie persuaded the magistrate to dismiss the case.

  The woman had the biggest natural breasts Jerry had ever seen. It was clear after measuring the cat flap and the woman’s chest that there was no way in a month of Sundays that she could have squeezed through the cat flap opening and committed the crime.

  She knocked on Leanne Pettigrew’s door at 17 Rivington Avenue in Woodford Green.

  Charlie was due to argue the case for a restraining order against a Mr Tug Muleford in the family court next week, and she’d decided to visit Miss Pettigrew to find out if everything was all right. She’d read the file, of course, but reports by social workers in files didn’t tell you what was lurking in the grey areas – and Jerry knew that there were a lot of grey areas in human relationships.

  The door opened.

  A girl – not much more than sixteen – was standing there with a baby boy of about five months old balanced on her hip. She was smoking, had a heart-shaped tattoo on her forearm, a yellowing bruise on her neck and a haunted look in her eyes. ‘Yeah?’

  ‘Miss Leanne Pettigrew?’

  The girl burst into tears. ‘I’ve said I’ll pay the rent . . .’

  Jerry touched Leanne’s arm. ‘I’m not here about the rent. My name is Jerry Kowalski, I’m from Mr Baxter’s office.’

  ‘Who’s he?’

  ‘We’ve been asked by social services to obtain a restraining order against a Mr Muleford . . .’

  Leanne wiped her eyes with the back of her hand, took a puff on her cigarette and jogged the baby up and down when he started grumbling. ‘You think a piece of paper is going to stop Tug from seeing his son?’

  ‘If he doesn’t comply with the order the police will . . .’

  Leanne laughed, but there was no humour in the sound. ‘Which planet are you on, lady? The police arrest Tug about once a week, but they keep letting him go again. Anyway, I don’t want the nosy neighbours knowing my business – you’d better come in.’

  Jerry followed Leanne into the two-bedroom terraced house. It smelled of baby, but not in a nice way. The stink was a mixture of vomit, faeces and something else she couldn’t put her finger on – and probably didn’t want to either.

  The living room was sparsely furnished, clothes and other items were strewn about, the carpet stuck to her feet and the curtains hadn’t been drawn yet. Jerry Springer blared on the wide-screen television.

  She perched on the edge of the sofa. ‘What do they arrest him for?’

  ‘You mean, what don’t they arrest him for? As far as I know, he hasn’t committed murder yet.’

  ‘How old is he?’

  ‘Seventeen?’

  ‘Has he got a job?’

  ‘He deals drugs. Is that the type of job you mean?’

  ‘No, not really?’ Jerry didn’t know what to say. How could people live like this?

  ‘What about your parents?’

  ‘Haven’t seen my dad since I was four years old, and my mum doesn’t want to know – she’s got her own problems and couldn’t wait to get rid of me.’

  ‘No other family?’

  ‘None that want to know.’

  ‘What about social services?’

  ‘Fucking useless bastards. They want me to play happy families on fifty quid a week, and they can’t stop Tug coming round here.’

  ‘Can’t you call the police when he does . . .’

  ‘You’re trying to get me killed, aren’t you?’

  Jerry pointed at her own neck to indicate the bruise on Leanne’s. ‘Did he do that?’

  ‘I didn’t do it myself.’

  ‘Surely the poli
ce . . . ?’

  ‘They’re fucking useless as well. It’s my word against his, and he has a load of mates that will swear blind he was somewhere else when I beat myself black and blue.’

  ‘Does he hit the baby?’

  ‘No. I’ll say that for him, he loves little Cesc.’

  ‘Cesc?’

  ‘Tug is an Arsenal Supporter. Cesc Fabregas used to be their captain, but he plays for Barcelona now.’

  Just then a teenage boy came into the living room. His black eyes seemed to be set too far apart, he had a boxer’s nose and a jagged scar on his chin. He was dressed in an all-black jogging top and trousers with a brand new pair of Reebok trainers. The hood was pulled up over a baseball cap. The top was open and underneath he wore a black t-shirt and three heavy gold chains round his neck.

  ‘Who the fuck are you?’

  Jerry realised that Tug Muleford was an animal out of control. It would have been a kindness to himself and others to have him put down by lethal injection.

  ‘Do you live here?’ she asked him.

  He leaned over and hissed in her face, ‘You didn’t answer my question, bitch. Who the fuck are you?’

  ‘I’m from the solicitor’s office.’

  He grabbed her arm, dragged her to her feet and along the hallway to the front door, opened it and flung her out.

  She wasn’t really dressed for gymnastics and went sprawling down the concrete path.

  ‘You come back bitch, you might find yourself gang-raped and dying of a drug overdose in some dark alleyway. Now fuck off and leave us alone.’

  The door slammed.

  She wanted to cry. Besides being frightened half to death, her hands and knees were sore and bleeding, and she’d broken two of her nails. She thought about calling the police, but if she did that Ray would find out. God, if Ray knew what the little bastard had done to her he’d drive round here and kill him.

  Well, it was clear that a restraining order wasn’t going to be much use. She had to go back to the office and talk to Charlie and social services. They needed to do something positive to get Leanne Pettigrew and her baby away from that sadistic bully. And in the final analysis, that’s all he was – a bully. If someone bigger and stronger came along – he’d be a nobody.