His Wrath is Come (P&R5), Page 2

  ‘But some MPs are never found,’ he said rubbing his four o’clock shadow.

  ‘I knew you weren’t as dense as you looked.’

  ‘Thank you, very kind.’

  ‘And of those that are never found, some could be dead.’

  ‘And not all people who go missing are reported as missing?’

  Her smile widened. ‘You’re beginning to see the problem I’m having filling in the other years, but I will fill them or my name isn’t Lola Laveque.’

  ‘How long since you spotted the pattern?’

  ‘Last week, that’s when I went up to see Chief Abby.’

  His right buttock had gone to sleep. He stood up and massaged it. ‘Do you think there are more before 1984?’

  ‘Might be.’

  ‘But?’

  ‘Paper records only.’

  ‘Ah, yes, of course. Okay, let’s focus on the years since 1984.’

  ‘Oh, so now you’re in charge of Lola?’ She pulled a strange faceless straw doll – approximately three inches long – out of the drawer of her desk and stroked it. ‘You haven’t got any long pins have you?’

  He grinned. ‘No, no pins, and you can be in charge of Lola, but... If I’m running an investigation, which it looks like I am, then you can be an adviser to the investigating team.’

  ‘An adviser?’

  ‘You’re the expert.’

  ‘Yes, I am.’

  ‘Do we have a deal?’

  Lola put the straw doll back in the drawer, but with the head peeping over the top, and pushed the drawer closed until only the head was showing. She thrust her hand towards him. ‘Deal, Sir.’

  ‘At ten o’clock tomorrow morning, come up to the MIT squad room and I’ll introduce you to the team. Also, how would you like a desk and computer up there for the duration of the investigation?’

  She stood up and hugged him until he thought he’d pass out.

  ‘I’ll see you in the morning then,’ he said when she released him, and squeezed out of the door.

  Really, it was a Cold Case, unless people with the initials AC were continuing to go missing. There had been one last year, would there be one this year? It was a few months until 10th September. Also, there was no evidence that any of the MPs had been murdered, they were simply missing. So, officially, it wasn’t really a murder investigation. While things were quiet, it wouldn’t hurt to make a couple of enquiries. Maybe, they could start with last year’s MP, and go from there. Lola could have found a serial killer that had been operating under the umbrella of missing persons for twenty-seven years. Yes, he was a bit excited at the prospect of finding out if Lola’s patterns held up.

  ***

  He still had in his wallet the clue Alex Knight had sent him via email. He had told Angie about it, but hadn’t said anything to anyone else. However, he knew Richards knew, because he’d climbed out of the shower one morning before the wedding to find that his wallet had moved slightly, and when he looked inside, the piece of paper had shifted from one compartment to another. But even though she knew, she couldn’t tell him she knew, because then she’d have to admit how she knew. He could have put her out of her misery by telling her he knew she knew, but then why should he?

  Although he kept telling himself that he hadn’t decided what to do, he knew he had. He needed to pursue the lead Alex Knight had sent him. If there was a chance he could find out about his parents, about his own beginnings in life then he really had no choice. The main reason he was dragging his feet was because last time he had unwittingly activated an MI6 assassin who had killed a number of people including two coppers outside his house, and who had also tried to kill him.

  Earlier, after he’d cleared his emails, he had input frati neri into the search engine – really just to find out what it meant – and apparently it was Italian for black friars or black brothers/brethren. He was stupid enough to think that maybe everything would become an open book, and that he’d immediately discover who he was. So he was cruelly disappointed when he saw the possibilities presented to him. There were references to a Frati Neri on the Via Romita on the outskirts of Cupramontana in Italy and a strange sundial called the orologio solare. A Dominican Order of Preachers who wore black habits and were called the Black Friars. Then there was God’s banker, the hanged man – Roberto Calvi. Of course, there was Blackfriars Bridge over the Thames, which was also referred to as ll Ponte dei Frati Neri. There were numerous restaurants and pubs boasting the name, a multitude of religious sites, an illegal Masonic lodge called P2, and Blackfriars Hall at Oxford University.

  He felt defeated at the number of possibilities and began doing other work, but the detective in him soon began to consider how he might approach the enigma. The thought of hiring a private investigator skittered across his mind like Sancho Panza on a mule, but he discounted the idea as possibly too costly. Stubbornly, he also didn’t want to hand over the investigation to someone else. If he ever did find out the truth, he wanted to look back in the knowledge that he had unravelled the layers of the conundrum. It wouldn’t have the same meaning if a stranger had discovered who he was.

  The question was where to start? He hated to admit it, but what he needed was Richards to categorise, classify, record, and do all the things he wasn’t much good at. Well, that wasn’t strictly true. If he had to do all those boring things he would, and he’d do them well, but he much preferred the blue sky thinking after all the administrative tasks had been done. Maybe he would let her help him, but he’d make her work for the privilege.

  Chapter Two

  Tuesday 12th July

  ‘Do you know what this is?’ he said indicating an official-looking form under his forearms and coffee mug.

  It was ten to seven in the morning. He’d been up since five-thirty, shaved, showered, and walked Digby. Angie had caught another week’s night duty, so he was sleeping alone. Now, he was sitting at the kitchen table nursing a coffee. Richards had just entered in her Paddington Bear pyjamas and was pouring cereal into a dish.

  She craned her neck to look, but he hid the form from her. ‘I’m meant to guess, am I? A Chelsea season ticket?’

  ‘I hate Chelsea.’

  ‘A telegram from the Queen?’

  ‘You only get those when you’re a hundred, and no... I’m not even close.’

  ‘A letter from the Chief Constable saying he’s putting you forward for a Knighthood?’

  ‘You’re not taking this seriously, are you?’

  ‘Well, I don’t know what it’s about.’

  ‘I’ll tell you what it’s about, shall I?’

  ‘That would be good.’ She put the dish of milky cereal on the table and sat down opposite him.

  He held the paper up he’d been hiding and shook it. ‘This is the form for your adoption.’

  She got up and hugged him, but then she let go, sat back down, and stared at him. ‘Why haven’t you signed it and sent it off?’

  ‘Ah! That’s a very good question.’

  ‘And what’s the answer?’

  He took a drink of his coffee, and then he slid his wallet out of his back pocket and placed it on the table. ‘Do you know what’s in here?’

  ‘Another guessing game? Money?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Credit cards?’

  Yes.’

  ‘Photographs?’

  ‘There’s something else as well isn’t there, Richards?’

  ‘Is there?’

  ‘Something you saw me put in here.’

  ‘I don’t know what you’re talking about.’

  ‘Oh, I think you do. I think you know very well what I’m talking about.’

  ‘Can you give me a clue?’

  ‘A piece of paper.’

  ‘What did it have on it?’

  ‘You tell me?’

  ‘I’m sure I don’t know.’

  ‘I checked the search history on your laptop...’

  Her eyes and mouth opened as if she were imitating a skull. �
��You didn’t?’

  ‘What have you got to say for yourself now you little thief?’

  ‘It was an accident. I didn’t mean to look.’

  ‘I see, so you’re compounding your deception by telling barefaced lies now? I’m not sure I want to adopt someone who’s a thief and a liar.’

  ‘It wasn’t really stealing.’

  ‘Theft of confidential information. Do you think it falls within Section 4 of the 1968 Theft Act?’

  ‘No, at best it’s espionage.’

  ‘I see, so you’re in training to become a spy now?’

  ‘You sneaked into my bedroom and stole confidential information from my laptop.’

  ‘I lied. I knew you couldn’t resist finding out what the words meant. And not only that, I have no idea what your password is.’

  ‘Oh yeah... So, it’s all right for you to lie. You... you... cheat.’

  ‘Go and get all your research now, and bring it down here.’

  ‘Are you going to sign that form?’

  ‘What form?’

  ‘The adoption form.’

  ‘Oh that, I’ve already signed it and sent it off.’

  She hit him on the arm. ‘You knew I’d looked at that paper all along, didn’t you?’

  ‘I’m a detective, of course I knew.’

  She screwed up her face. ‘Why have you left it until now to say anything?’

  ‘I was wondering what to do about your transgression.’

  ‘Yeah, but apart from teasing me you haven’t actually done anything. You just want me to help you, don’t you? You know I’ve done some research, and to save time you want me to share my research with you and keep the records.’

  ‘That’s an outrageous suggestion. I knew you knew, but you didn’t know that I knew you knew, so I decided to bring you in out of the cold and make your research legitimate.’

  ‘You haven’t told me why you wrote it down and put it in your wallet?’

  He told her about the email.

  ‘And you’ve kept it from me all this time?’

  ‘I’ve been wondering what to do with it.’

  ‘Does mum know?’

  ‘Of course.’

  ‘And you didn’t tell me, your partner, your daughter nearly?’

  ‘If you forget, I knew you already knew.’

  ‘Oh yeah... You have to find out what it means.’

  ‘You mean you want me to find out what it means.’

  She reached across the table and touched his arm. ‘Only if you do.’

  ‘I don’t know that I do.’

  ‘But...’

  He smiled. ‘Of course I do, that’s why we’re going to work on it together.’

  Animated, she stood up. ‘Do you want to see what I’ve found out?’

  ‘It’ll have to be tonight now. You need to get your arse in gear, otherwise we’ll be late.’

  She looked at the clock. ‘Oh God, is that the time? You shouldn’t have kept me talking.’ She ran out of the kitchen and shouted as she took the stairs two at a time, ‘If we’re late, I’ll tell the Chief it was your fault.’

  ‘I won’t be late,’ he shouted back at her. ‘If you’re not down here in fifteen minutes I’m going to leave without you.’

  ‘As if.’

  It took her twenty-five minutes. As he headed towards the A10, she used the small mirror inset into the car’s sun visor to brush her hair and put her make-up on.

  ‘Drive slowly, or I’ll end up looking like Morticia out of the Addams Family.’

  ‘You...’

  ‘I wouldn’t say what you’re thinking if I were you.’

  ***

  ‘Parish and Richards as I live and breath.’

  ‘Morning Kowalski,’ they both said together.

  ‘Thanks for last night. If we’d waited just that little bit longer we’d have caught him.’

  Parish turned his head to look at Richards.

  ‘It wasn’t my fault, you should never have put me in that crypt with the vampire rats.’

  ‘Vampire rats my backside,’ Parish scoffed. ‘Don’t worry, Ray, I’ve not signed her off on stakeouts. I’ve scrawled across that competency, “Failed miserably”.’

  ‘Quite right as well. Ed and me have got to waste another night there tonight.’

  ‘I’ll come with you, and I’ll do it properly this time.’

  ‘I don’t think so, Richards.’

  ‘But I won’t achieve that competency.’

  Parish grunted. ‘You should have thought about that last night before you started creating a new species of rodent.’

  ‘There could be... There’s a vampire bat, why not a vampire rat?’

  ‘No, we’ll just have to add another year onto your detective training. At this rate, you’ll be eighty-five before you become a real detective like Ray and me.’

  ‘I’m going to check the list of competencies, and I bet stakeouts isn’t one of them.’

  ‘You do that, Richards. In the meantime, a coffee would be good. What about you, Ray, the least she can do after last night’s debacle?’

  Kowalski held up his mug. ‘Quite right. Ed, do you want a coffee?’

  ‘I thought you’d never ask.’

  Parish said to her. ‘While you’re doing that, I’m just going to pop my head round the Chief’s door.’

  ‘What are we doing today?’

  ‘I’ve got a surprise for you.’

  Her eyes opened wide like clear glass pools and she grinned. ‘I love surprises.’

  ‘I know.’

  He walked along the corridor and past Debbie Shinwell’s empty desk. When DCI Marshall had disappeared, so had the weird Rupert Fothergill he was glad to hear. He knocked on the Chief’s door, and stuck his head between the gap.

  She was on the phone, but signalled for him to enter and sit down. There was a hot jug of real coffee on the table, and he wondered whether to pour himself a cup. In the end, he couldn’t resist the sweet smell of roasted Kopi Luwak. Chief Day used to buy bog-standard Colombian coffee beans, but Chief Kirby prided herself in buying the most expensive coffee in the world. She had told him about it after he’d drunk a cup and commented on how nice it was.

  ‘Nice? Is that the best you can do? Nice! After passing through the digestive tract of a palm civet monkey, this coffee costs £100 for a pound bag.

  He pulled a face and stuck out his tongue. ‘I’m not going to die on my honeymoon am I?’

  ‘If that were the case, I’d be dead a million times over. If it worries you, I won’t offer you any in the future.’

  ‘No, that’s all right, Chief. If you can survive after drinking it, I’m sure I can.’

  ‘Very generous, I’m sure.’

  She put the phone down. ‘What can I do for you, Inspector Parish?’

  ‘You must be struggling without a secretary?’

  ‘Interviews all day tomorrow. Well, it was...’

  ‘No, that’s not what I came to see you about. I saw Constable Laveque yesterday about her missing person pattern...’

  ‘Ah yes, interested?’

  ‘I certainly could be. We’ll do some initial enquiries and see what materialises. Now, at five o’clock each day Richards and I would come and brief Chief Day on our current case, what would you like us to do?’

  ‘Let’s do that and see how it goes.’

  He swallowed the dregs of the monkey’s faeces and stood up. ‘I won’t keep you any more. I can see that you’re busy, Chief.’

  ‘Very.’

  He made his way back to the squad room. It was twenty past nine, and Richards was at her desk catching up with paperwork. Kowalski and Ed had gone, and it was quiet.

  His coffee was on his desk nearly cold, but he didn’t mind because he could soon fix that with a minute in the microwave.

  ‘So, what’s the surprise, Sir?’

  ‘A desk...’

  ‘Sorry?’

  He scanned the room. ‘We need a desk and a computer.’

/>   The MIT squad room took up most of the third floor of Hoddesdon Police Station. To the left and right as one emerged from the stairwell or the lift was a corridor incorporating offices, which included the Chief’s at the end on the left, and the kitchen at the other end. Directly opposite the lift and stairs was an opening into the squad room, which housed a preponderance of curved Formica desks containing the usual clutter of computer screens, keyboards, telephones, tray stacks for files, and numerous other bureaucratic paraphernalia. A bank of windows took up the left wall, and Parish and Richards were just right of the opening.

  Richards pointed to a desk behind Parish. ‘DC Zawecki is on sick leave for the next three weeks.’

  Yes, Andrew Zawecki was still undergoing physiotherapy after he’d been hit with a full brick during the London riots that had shattered his collarbone. They should never have permitted an overweight detective on the front line.

  ‘Excellent, we have a new member of the team coming... In fact, here she is now.’

  Constable Lola Laveque arrived with her arms full of papers. Richards went to help her.

  ‘Lola, this is my partner, Constable Richards.’

  ‘Mary,’ Richards said to her. ‘Welcome to the team.’

  ‘I like you already, Mary Richards. If someone makes a poppet of you, it won’t be me.’

  Richards looked askance at Parish.

  ‘Lola practises voodoo,’ Parish explained. ‘I assume a poppet is one of your straw dolls, Lola?’

  ‘You assume rightly, and just so there’s no misunderstanding – I still got one of you.’

  Parish half-smiled, and wondered if the pains in his back were anything to do with Lola sticking pins in the straw doll.

  Richards guided Lola to DC Zawecki’s desk and dropped the stack of files and paper on it.

  ‘Is that it, just you and Mary Richards who make up the MIT?’

  ‘No, there’s also DI Ray Kowalski and DS Ed Gorman, but neither of them are here at the moment.’

  Lola crossed herself again. ‘I heard of that Kowalski fella, eats girls like me for breakfast.’

  ‘He isn’t that bad, Lola,’ Richards said.