Shadow of Death (9781476057248) Page 8

‘You two washed-out has-beens should have thought of all that,’ Parish said. ‘Well done, Richards.’

  ‘Huh!’

  ‘So, going to Hillside Farm won’t be a wasted journey after all, Ed.’

  ‘I was going to go anyway.’

  ‘Yeah, I can’t think straight since they moved me into traffic analysis. I think I’m losing my detective skills.’

  Ed continued. ‘The second set of fingerprints belonged to a woman by the name of Andrea Symmonds. Her crime was shoplifting eighteen months ago. The only place she could think of where she might have come into contact with a trunk was an antique shop in Wormley called Camarthen Antiques, which she visited sometime in April. So that’s on my list for tomorrow as well.’

  Kowalski rubbed the stubble on his chin. ‘It could be that the antiques dealer bought the trunk at the car boot sale, and our killer bought it from the antiques dealer.’

  ‘If the trunk was in the antique shop during April,’ Richards said, ‘then it seems likely that they sold it to someone before the car boot sale, and the same someone sold it on again, or it was the antique dealer at the car boot sale.’

  Kowalski screwed the knuckles of his hands into his eyes and said, ‘It’s too late at night for mind games.’

  ‘Good work, Ed,’ Parish said. ‘As usual, we start off collecting broken shards, and then piecing them together like a mosaic until they form something that makes sense.’

  ‘You should have been a writer, Inspector,’ Catherine said.

  Richards pulled a face, and mimicked Catherine’s words.

  ‘Do you want to go next, Richards?’ Parish said.

  She crossed her arms. ‘No.’

  ‘Okay, Toadstone you’re on.’

  ‘The police records of the trunk murders from the 1950s were destroyed a number of years ago in a cost-cutting space-saving exercise. However, the Inspector and I discovered that Mrs Royston has copies of the records, but she couldn’t find them during our visit. I’m hoping that she will contact me soon to tell me she’s found the records and I can borrow them to obtain copies.’

  ‘Did you tell them about Mrs Royston and her house, Toadstone?’

  ‘I told them, Sir.’

  ‘I’m surprised you got out alive,’ Kowalski said.

  Parish laughed. ‘So were we.’

  Toadstone cleared his throat. ‘Mrs Royston said she had a photographic memory, but I’m beginning to think that her recall might have been affected by her age. Anyway, although she couldn’t find the records, she remembered that the police had a suspect called Tobias Southern. They were certain he was the killer, but he had alibis for some of the murders. She couldn’t say anything about him in her book, because there was no evidence linking him to any of the murders. He also had a wife and three children, some of who are still alive today and could have sued for libel.’

  ‘That’s your job tomorrow, Ray. Find all the relatives of this Tobias Southern. If he was the murderer, then maybe there’s a genetic link to the person we’re looking for now.’

  Kowalski nodded and wrote down the details in his notebook.

  ‘Also,’ Toadstone continued, ‘she interviewed one of the original detectives before he died, and he said that he and his partner had the feeling the killer had an accomplice, which would fit with the problem of Southern having alibis for some of the murders.’

  Parish stole the punch line. ‘And the only clue to the accomplice’s name was the word ‘West’, scribbled in the margin of the last page.’

  ‘Thanks, Sir.’

  ‘Glad to be of service, Toadstone.’

  ‘Further analysis of the trunk revealed no new information. The DNA, hair and fibres we collected currently have no matches on the database, but we did discover something on Valerie Nichols’ body that, as far as I know, wasn’t found on the body of Mercy Jane Seigel.’

  Richards’ eyes lit up. ‘A signature?’ she said, leaning forward.

  ‘It could be, Mary,’ Toadstone said. ‘It was a tiny stickman with a halo branded into her right breast. We thought it was simply a scratch until we put it under the microscope.’ He produced an enlarged photograph clearly showing what he’d described, and attached it to the board.

  ‘Sick bastard,’ Ed said.

  Kowalski stood up, grabbed the marker pen, and drew a stickman saint on the whiteboard. ‘Simon Templar, The Saint: a detective series from the 1960s developed from the books by Leslie Charteris, and there was also a recent film with Val Kilmer in the title role.’

  ‘You should have known that, Toadstone,’ Parish said.

  ‘Yes, you’re right,’ he said pulling a face. ‘I should have.’

  ‘So we have a new St John, if there was any doubt,’ Parish said. ‘Anything else, Toadstone?’

  He was still wondering why he hadn’t connected the film with the carving. ‘No, nothing else,’ he said, absently.

  ‘What about the second body?’ Catherine asked.

  ‘Of course, sorry, it’s in my lab. Another young woman, who I’ll get to tomorrow.’

  ‘Your turn, Richards,’ Parish prompted.

  ‘What do you want me to say?’

  ‘I want you to tell us about the Bin Bag Case.’

  ‘There’s not much to tell, really.’

  ‘Well, tell us what there is.’

  ‘The Bin Bag Case isn’t very interesting.’

  ‘These are the bags that were found with loads of hands and feet in?’ Catherine said.

  ‘Yes. The new DCI transferred Kowalski to traffic, sidelined me and Ed to the humdrum murders and stole the Bin Bag Case and Richards off me. I objected, the glass fell out of her office door when I slammed it, and now I’m suspended and being investigated for gross misconduct.’

  ‘But how come you’re investigating the trunk murders?’

  ‘Ah yes... Well, Toadstone forgot to tell the DCI he’d found a trunk with a dead body in at the landfill site.’

  ‘Forgot?’

  ‘So, when I arrived to co-ordinate the search for more bin bags, he suddenly remembered what he’d found and told me about it. We decided that seeing as the DCI had the Bin Bag Case, we’d keep the trunk murder for ourselves.’

  Catherine looked sideways at everyone. ‘No wonder you don’t want me to print anything. So, the new DCI doesn’t know about the trunk murders?’

  Parish shook his head.

  ‘And Constable Richards is your inside man... woman... on the Bin Bag Case because you’ve been suspended?’

  Parish nodded.

  ‘But the killer has said he wants publicity tomorrow, or he’s going to kill again.’

  ‘Yes, that’s a bit of a problem,’ Parish agreed. ‘If the DCI finds out what’s going on we’ll all be arrested, and that should solve her problem.’

  ‘What problem?’ Kowalski said.

  He told them about his meetings with Audrey and the Assistant Commissioner of the Met, Paula Tindall.

  ‘Jesus,’ Kowalski said. ‘So, it’s your bloody fault I’m in traffic?’

  ‘So it would seem,’ Parish said, pouring himself another coffee from one of the flasks Angie had bought for the meetings.

  ‘Yeah, let’s take a break,’ Kowalski said, standing up and stretching his back.

  Chapter Seven

  Sir Charles Lathbury – currently using the passport of Peter Tremain – retired tennis coach to celebrities, ordered a whisky on the rocks at the bar of the Alpina Hotel. It had been a long time since he’d been skiing, and he wasn’t about to start again now. The last time, if he recalled correctly, he had done himself a mischief in the groin area, which had curtailed his sexual pleasures for over six weeks. Yes, he would get his exercise in the bar this time.

  He had never been to Klosters, too high profile for his tastes. If royalty frequented the place, then it was to be avoided at all costs.

  There were two agents here with instructions to arrange an accident for James Miller-Gifford. If he died in the accident, so be it. If his wife
and children were involved, so much the better – it would appear more real. If they died – then that was how accidents played out sometimes. Collateral damage the Americans called it – didn’t you just love those Americans?

  The two agents had no idea who he was, or that he was here to ensure there were no cock-ups this time. They weren’t in his hotel, of course. They had been booked into a two-star pension on the outskirts of Klosters. After all, they were here to work, not make themselves comfortable. He’d glanced at their personnel files in his room before coming down to the bar. Both had arranged accidents before – singularly, together, and with other agents. In other words, neither of them were amateurs.

  Well, if they failed, he’d kill them and do the job himself. It was a few years since he’d killed anybody, but he still remembered how, and the feelings of power and exhilaration it gave him.

  ‘Another drink, Herr Tremain?’ the barman asked.

  ‘I think I will, Hans,’ he said, passing the barman his empty glass. ‘Thank you.’

  James Miller-Gifford entered the room with his wife and three children. Once his family was seated, he came up to the bar and ordered a beer, a white wine, and three orange juices. His three girls looked to be between the ages of nine and fifteen. He nodded at Tremain as the barman prepared his drinks and placed them on the bar.

  ‘Lovely family,’ Tremain said.

  ‘Thank you. On your own?’

  ‘Yes, never married unfortunately.’

  Nodding at the drinks, he said, ‘Aperitif before dinner.’ He smiled. ‘Have a good holiday.’

  ‘You too.’

  Tomorrow, Mr Miller-Gifford would be lying in a hospital bed, or on a mortuary table, and possibly his lovely family would be joining him. The dark haired and bearded Tremain raised his glass and smiled as Miller-Gifford and his wife looked over.

  ***

  ‘The Bin Bag Case, Richards- what’s going on?’ Parish asked again once everyone had helped themselves to drinks and biscuits.

  ‘Does it matter, Sir? When I’m somebody’s bitch in the women’s prison I won’t care about the Bin Bag Case.’

  ‘Nobody’s going to prison,’ Parish said.

  ‘What about the publicity?’ Catherine asked.

  ‘Look, do we bow and scrape to a killer’s demands?’

  They looked at each other and shook their heads.

  ‘Is he going to kill again regardless of what we do? Unless, of course, we catch him first.’

  They nodded.

  ‘So, we ignore his request. I’m sure he’s already taken another victim, and if she isn’t dead already she soon will be. The only thing that will stop him reaching seven is if we catch him before he does – Agreed?’

  They all nodded again.

  ‘Is there any chance that you’re ever going to brief us on this Bin Bag Case, Richards?’

  ‘Fatty Marshall thinks it’s something to do with the Russian Mafia.’

  Catherine screwed up her face and said, ‘As far as I know there is no Russian Mafia in Essex; in London, yes- but Essex?’ She shook her head.

  ‘What have you got to say to that?’ Parish said.

  Richards looked daggers at Catherine. ‘Nothing. We don’t have briefings like we used to do with you. I’m just her driver.’

  ‘Where are you driving her to?’

  ‘All over. We’re visiting the brothels, the sweatshops, and trying to find out how illegal immigrants come into the country. Tomorrow we’re going to visit Customs & Excise in Southend to see if they can help us.’

  ‘Okay, good. I knew we’d get something out of you before the night was over.’

  ‘Huh! Am I allowed to speak now?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘I think, if the killer is copying St John’s murders, we should stake out where the victim was found.’

  ‘Good one, Richards,’ Ed said.

  The shadow of a smile crossed her face.

  ‘Tell us about the third victim then,’ Parish said to her.

  Richards pulled out the original copy of her book and read from it:

  ‘Twenty-seven year old Maureen Little was his third victim. Her dismembered body was found on 1st June 1954 in a World War 1 US Army military trunk left outside the mortuary in the Grange Convalescent Home for Children...’

  ‘Which is where?’ Kowalski asked.

  ‘I know the answer to that one,’ Catherine said. ‘Local residents are objecting to plans to build 470 houses and a 9 storey block of flats on the site. It was used as an emergency hospital during the Second World War, and then renamed Harold Wood Hospital. It was closed in December 2006, and the patients and functions were transferred to Queen’s Hospital and King George Hospital.’

  ‘Nothing’s ever straight-forward, is it?’ Ed said.

  They all turned to look at him.

  ‘Well, is the killer going to leave the trunk at the original site, Queen’s Hospital, or King George Hospital? Which one do we stake out? Or do we watch all three?’

  ‘We haven’t got the resources for staking out all three,’ Parish said. ‘Is there any chance you can find out whether the mortuary was transferred to Queen’s or King George’s, Catherine?’

  ‘If I wasn’t being used as a fill-in detective I might be able to...’

  ‘Can you, or can’t you?’

  ‘I’ll try.’

  ‘See, that wasn’t too difficult, was it?’

  Richards covered up a grin by holding the book in front of her face.

  ‘You do realise the original buildings are still standing, don’t you?’

  Parish screwed up his face. ‘Why didn’t you say so?’

  ‘I just did.’

  ‘We’ll take a trip out there on Thursday. Carry on, Richards.’

  ‘On the night she disappeared she also had been out dancing, at the Highwayman Dance Club on Gallows Corner, Gidea Park...’

  ‘Maybe we should stake out the clubs in the area?’ Ed said.

  Kowalski grunted. ‘And look for what, Ed?’

  ‘Well, I suppose for men who match the description of the suspect.’

  ‘Have you been in a club lately?’

  Ed gave a laugh. ‘Do I look like the type of guy who goes clubbing?’

  ‘Not really, no. Well, they’re like the black hole of Calcutta. You can’t see your hand in front of your face, you can’t hear anything because the music makes you deaf and stupid, and, unless you’re taking drugs, you don’t understand anything that’s happening either.’

  ‘Oh, okay! It was just a thought.’

  ‘And a good thought it was too,’ Richards said. ‘Ed’s right. It would be much better to catch him before he kills another woman rather than afterwards.’

  Ed smiled. ‘Thanks, Richards.’

  Parish stood up. ‘Okay, let’s finish this off so you can all go home, and I can have my dinner. Richards, you’re still my mole.’

  ‘I feel like a blind rodent as well.’

  ‘Ed, you’re going to see the third suspect on the fingerprint list, the owners of Hillside Farm, and the proprietors of Camarthen Antiques in Wormley.’

  Ed made sure he had everything in his notebook. ‘Yep.’

  ‘Ray, you’re doing a database search for the relatives of Tobias Southern, and finding out where Terri Royston’s three sons live.’

  ‘It’ll give me something to do instead of counting cars on the M25, I suppose.’

  ‘Toadstone, you’re doing the PM on the second body, and examining the trunk she was in.’

  ‘I certainly am.’

  ‘And give Terri Royston another ring. We need those old police reports.’

  ‘I’ll try, but you’ve seen what she’s like.’

  ‘Tell her if she doesn’t find the reports, we’ll arrest her for impeding a police investigation and turn her house upside down looking for them ourselves.’

  ‘I know what she’ll say to that.’

  ‘Do your best.’

  ‘And Catherine and I
have appointments with Vincent Chandler, Carole Dobbins, and the manager at the Statics Club. Okay, eight o’clock tomorrow night- goodnight one and all.’

  After they’d all left, and he’d arranged to pick Catherine up at nine thirty in the morning, he walked into the kitchen. It was nine forty, and he still hadn’t eaten.

  ‘Are you sure you want this now?’ Angie asked him.

  ‘I’m starving,’ he said, sitting down at the table.

  Richards came in ready for bed and poured herself a glass of orange juice. She leaned against the worktop and took a sip of the liquid, then said, ‘I don’t think I like you any more, Sir, and I definitely don’t like that Catty Cox.’

  Parish smiled. The microwave signalled his stew and dumplings were ready.

  ‘Mary!’ Angie said as Richards left the kitchen and banged up the stairs.

  He squeezed her arm. ‘It’s all right, love. She’s feeling out of it because none of us are there for her at the moment, and Marshall is using her as a driver. She wants to come with me, but she also knows she can’t, and she thinks a reporter has taken her place.’

  ‘I saw the way that Catty Cox looked at you.’

  ‘Don’t you start. You’re the love of my life and the mother of my child. All my life I wanted to be part of a real family, and now I am I wouldn’t jeopardise it for anyone or anything.’

  She kissed him.

  He finished his meal and said, ‘You go up. I’ll walk Digby, and then join you.’

  ‘Don’t be long – you owe me something.’

  ‘And I always pay my debts,’ he said, smacking her backside as she walked past him. ‘Come on, Digby, you’re getting to be an idle good-for-nothing dog. He attached Digby’s lead and took him out through the front door.

  The night air was cool, and he took a couple of deep breaths as he set off. He enjoyed walking Digby at this time of night; the silence allowed him to think clearly.

  He took pride in always trying to do the right thing, but he knew he’d made a bad decision tonight. As he walked, he took out his mobile phone and rang Catherine Cox.