His Wrath is Come (P&R5)

  His Wrath is Come

  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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  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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  Birthday wishes to Lorraine Dillon (1st Feb), Wendy ‘Woo’ Wells, Sophie Wilson (13th Feb), (15th Feb), my sister Vivienne (17th Feb), Sheila Cooper (70 on the 18th Feb), Nicola Thorpe (21st Feb), Jenny Harris (25th Feb), Jo Webb (26th Feb), Danielle LaFleche Kinghorn and Jill Shadron Mora (27th Feb), Verona Adam (28th Feb)

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  A big thank you to proofreader James Godber

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  For the great day of his wrath is come.

  Revelations 6:17

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  Chapter One

  Monday, 11th July

  ‘I’m scared, Sir.’

  ‘Will you shut up, Richards,’ Parish said into his radio. ‘You’re meant to be hiding, and keeping radio silence.’

  ‘I know, but it’s dark, and there are spiders in here.’

  ‘Is that all?’

  ‘Big ones, and I can hear scraping sounds.’

  ‘What, like a shackled foot dragging along the floor?’

  ‘Don’t say that... You don’t think there are ghosts in here as well, do you?’

  ‘No such things.’

  ‘But when we opened the crypt we might have woken someone – or something – up.’

  ‘You watch far too much television.’

  ‘If the killer does turn up he’ll think he’s stumbled into an episode of the Jeremy Kyle show,’ Kowalski chipped in.

  ‘Yeah, stop talking, Richards,’ Parish said.

  ‘You were talking as well, Sir.’

  ‘Which part of stop talking don’t you understand?’

  ‘Huh.’

  It was ten minutes before midnight. They were in the unused Chingford Mount Cemetery off the Old Church Road. It was Kowalski and Ed’s case – a lunatic was stealing corpses from funeral directors and dumping them in local graveyards. He and Richards were helping out because murders were a bit thin on the ground. Today was his first day back at work after getting married to Angela Richards – or should that be Angela Parish née Richards? – and taking two weeks off to go on honeymoon to Castaway Island in Fiji. After wearing a sarong for two weeks his clothes felt heavy and uncomfortable. Also, the peeling skin on his shoulders and the tops of his feet itched like crazy. He’d spent the day catching up with his mail, his intray, his inbox, and clearing his desk of debris that people had deposited there because they were too stupid to use one of the specific places allocated for rubbish, and most of it was. Also, his monitor had disappeared under a blanket of post-it stickers all the colours of the rainbow, and with no useful information on any of them.

  Chief Abby Kirby called him into her office just before lunch, gave him coffee, and sat down at the coffee table with him.

  ‘You look well, Parish.’

  ‘I am, and can I say that I appreciate you trying to make everything like it was when Chief Day was here? I think we can have the same kind of working relationship.’

  ‘Thank you for your honesty, Inspector. I hope we can work together as well.’

  ‘The Chief and I had a good relationship... and Richards. Do you know she made sure he took his tablets and kept his appointments at the hospital?’

  ‘Yes, I know. DI Kowalski has told me everything.’

  ‘We thought... Well... You haven’t slept with Kowalski have you, Chief?’

  She smiled emphasising the laughter lines. ‘He said you’d ask me that. Yes, we had a little fling many years ago.’

  Parish shook his head. ‘Is there anyone that man hasn’t slept with, do you think?’

  ‘I’m sure if you look hard enough... Anyway, welcome back.’

  ‘Not many murders to get stuck into?’

  ‘Now that you’re back, I’m sure the serial killers will crawl out of the sewers.’

  ‘I hope not.’

  ‘In the meantime, I’d like you to speak to a Constable Lola Laveque from missing persons; she thinks she’s found a pattern.’

  He leaned forward. ‘Oh?’

  ‘I won’t steal her thunder, but what she’s found might be right up your street.’

  ‘Okay, I’ll take a wander down after lunch. Is there anything else?’

  She hesitated. ‘I’m concerned about Constable Richards.’

  ‘In what way?’

  ‘Do you think she’s a bit young to be chasing serial killers?’

  ‘No, Chief. If you saw the reference material she keeps in her bedroom you wouldn’t be worried. It was Richards who spotted that the trunk murders were copies from the 1950s. If she were on Mastermind, Serial Killers would be her specialised subject.’

  ‘If you’re sure?’

  ‘I’m sure. It would cause her more psychological damage taking her off the team than everything she’s had to deal with so far, and between me and Kowalski, we’re looking after her.’

  ‘I trust your judgement.’

  He threw back the dregs of his coffee and stood up. ‘Thanks, Chief. I’ll let you know about the missing persons’ theory.’

  And that was that. He felt as though Walter Day wasn’t turning in his grave anymore – Abby Kirby was a good replacement, and Parish and Richards were back in the groove.

  ‘There’s someone coming,’ Ed’s voice came over the radio.

  He heard an ear-piercing scream and ran to where Kowalski had put Richards in the Williams’ family crypt.

  Kowalski and Ed were already there.

  Richards was running around squealing and stamping her feet.

  ‘What the hell happened?’ he said.

  ‘It was a vampire rat,’ Richards said. ‘It bit me.’

  ‘Let me look,’ Parish said bending down and shining his torch at her legs. ‘Where?’

  ‘Well, it was going to. I could see the blood lust in its burning red eyes.’

  ‘There goes our stakeout,’ Ed said. ‘I don’t think the nutcase is going to come visiting tonight anyway.’

  ‘I think you’re right, Ed,’ Kowalski said. ‘Let’s knock it on the head.’

  They all turned to point their torches and stare at Richards.

  ‘It wasn’t my fault,’ Richards said. ‘Sergeant Gorman shouldn’t have put me in that crypt.’

  ***

  He’d told Angie on the honeymoon what had happened in the kitchen with Catherine. She didn’t say anything for a long time.

  ‘She’ll have to go, Jed.’

  ‘Yes, I know.’

  ‘You didn’t encourage her?’

  ‘Absolutely not.’

  ‘Has she got any family?’

  ‘I don’t know.’

  ‘I’ll speak to Mary. I’m sure she feels responsible. It was her fault after all that they went back to the hospital.’

  ‘So, you think Mary feels responsible for Catherine’s fear?’

  ‘Yes.’


  ‘I’ll leave it to you then.’

  ‘Coward.’

  ‘Most definitely.’

  At breakfast, Catherine said she was moving back to her flat, and thanked everyone for their patience and understanding. She had been seeing Dr Rafferty, and the therapy was helping. Moving out was the next step in controlling her fear.

  So, he hoped everything was resolved, and if Catherine wasn’t able to accost him in the kitchen then there shouldn’t be any more incidents. In time, he hoped she would find someone else and forget that she ever had a crush on him.

  ***

  Catherine leaving was all very good, but it wasn’t the main news at breakfast.

  ‘I’ve found a man,’ Richards announced rather too nonchalantly as she was pouring muesli into a dish.

  ‘Oh dear!’ Angie said.

  ‘Don’t say that, mum. You’ll like him.’

  Parish shook his head. ‘You haven’t had sex with him, have you?’

  She hesitated. ‘No.’

  ‘How many times?’

  ‘Once.’

  ‘And after the first time?’

  ‘Twice more, but he loves me.’

  ‘Bring him to the house tonight, I’ll vet him.’

  ‘He’s had to go away on business, but he’ll be back Wednesday.’

  ‘How convenient. Have you checked him out on CrimInt?’

  ‘You know we’re not allowed to use it for our personal relationships.’

  Angie touched his arm. ‘He’s not going to come back on Wednesday, or any other day, is he Jed?’

  ‘I would be very surprised if he did.’

  ‘He’ll come back, you just wait and see. He loves me, he calls me his passion fruit.’

  ‘Oh dear,’ Angie said again.

  Richards pulled a face as she plonked herself down in a chair. ‘You just don’t want me to have anyone to love, but you’ll see, he’ll be here on Wednesday evening.’

  ‘Name?’ Parish asked.

  ‘Vince... Vince Jones, although he likes me to call him Vinny.’

  Parish burst out laughing.

  ‘What? Don’t laugh. Tell me. What?’

  ‘Vinny Jones was a footballer who used to play for Wimbledon FC, and is now a Hollywood actor.’

  ‘That doesn’t mean anything.’

  ‘Did you check his driving licence, or see anything with his name on it?’

  ‘I didn’t have to, I trusted him.’

  ‘What about his car number plate, tell me you wrote down his number plate?’

  ‘I have his mobile number.’

  ‘And you’ve rung it?’

  ‘We’ve texted.’

  ‘Ring him now.’

  ‘It’s a bit early in the morning.’

  ‘Give me the number, I’ll ring him.’

  She snatched her phone up. ‘I’ll do it.’

  They waited while she connected, and held the phone up to her ear.

  ‘That doesn’t prove anything. He could be in the shower, driving to Land’s End, or...’

  ‘Land’s End?’

  ‘That’s where his course is.’

  ‘And you’ve checked that there is actually a course running there, and he’s on it? You’ve rung the hotel where he’s staying? And...’

  ‘You always have to spoil everything, make it seem sordid.’

  ‘What’s your job, Richards?’

  ‘You know what it is, I’m nearly a detective.’

  ‘Nearly being the operative word. You’ve let a man into your life without checking him out. Would you do that as a detective?’

  ‘Well no, of course not, everyone is a suspect when we’re investigating a case.’

  He stared at her waiting for the penny to drop.

  ‘What, you want me to treat all men as suspects?’

  ‘Most definitely.’

  ‘But everyone is innocent until proven guilty, aren’t they?’

  ‘That’s a nice idea thought up by some do-gooder, but do we honestly believe that? You’ve just said that everyone is a suspect when we’re investigating a case. As such, it doesn’t work in practice – everyone is guilty until proven innocent.’

  ‘That’s terribly cynical.’

  ‘You work on that basis every day at work.’

  ‘I do?’

  ‘Yes.’

  She put a spoonful of muesli in her mouth and was evidently thinking about what Parish had said.

  ‘Okay, but normal people don’t run their boyfriend’s names through the CrimInt database.’

  ‘First of all, you are normal people. And second of all, if they could, they would. All men are the worst kind of criminals when it comes to sex – they can’t help themselves. They’re driven by an evolutionary imperative to sow their seed wherever they can, and they’ll lie and cheat to do it.’

  ‘He’s not going to turn up on Wednesday, is he?’

  ‘I doubt it very much.’

  Richards began crying into her muesli. ‘Why do I do it? I say every time I’ll let you vet them first, but they all seem so honest and persuasive. I shouldn’t be allowed out on my own.’

  ***

  After lunch he sidled down to the ground floor to find Lola Laveque in Missing Persons. He’d never been there. In fact, apart from knowing that it was located on the ground floor, he actually had no idea where it was. Eventually, he found a door with a hand-written sign pinned to it, which read MPs and a strange-looking doll drawn underneath.

  He knocked and opened the door.

  Constable Lola Laveque was a short rotund black woman of indeterminate age who wore a permanent smile on her face. He’d caught her eating some strange food out of a plastic container.

  ‘You wanted to see me?’ he said.

  ‘And you are?’

  ‘DI Parish.’

  ‘From the MIT?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Okay, take a seat.’

  He looked around but there was nowhere to sit. ‘Where?’

  ‘People usually perch on the corner of the desk.’

  He perched.

  ‘Do you want to share my ackee and saltfish?’ she said thrusting the fishy dish under his nose.

  He hated fish. ‘Thank you, but I’ve just had lunch.’

  ‘Don’t know what you’re missing.’

  ‘Chief Kirby said that you’d found something?’

  ‘I’m always finding one thing or another in here.’

  ‘A pattern?’ He was beginning to wonder if he’d stumbled into the twilight zone. The tiny office boasted a desk, a computer, a filing cabinet, a chair, and stacks of files on every surface.

  ‘Any particular pattern?’

  ‘You told the Chief you’d found a pattern?’

  ‘I did?’ She rolled her eyes. ‘Yes, so I did.’

  ‘Are you going to tell me about it?’

  ‘And then you’ll take the credit for all my hard work.’

  ‘I wouldn’t dream of it. I’ll let everyone know that it was you who found the pattern should it develop into an investigation, but it would be very helpful if you could just give me an outline of what you’ve found so that I can decide what to do.’

  ‘Chief Abby didn’t tell you?’

  ‘Not a word, only that you’d found a pattern.’

  ‘Okay, but I should warn you that I’m from Haiti, and trained in the dark practice of vodou, so you don’t never want to mess with Lola Laveque.’

  ‘I’m not messing with you, Lola.’

  ‘Okay.’ She withdrew a folded piece of paper from between two files and opened it up. ‘I’ve found seven up to now going back to 1984, but I’m sure there’s more.’

  ‘More what?’

  ‘Well look,’ she said spreading the paper out and turning it towards him. In 1984, on the 10th of September, nineteen-year-old Andrew Cardigan went missing.’ She moved her finger across the years. ‘In 1991, on the same date, nineteen-year-old Abigail Carr went missing...’

  ‘Were they reported missing on tho
se dates?’

  ‘No, those were the dates they disappeared.’

  ‘Okay, go on?’

  ‘In 1998 Adam Cunard, 2001 Adele Copeland, 2007 Aimee Carsley, 2008 Ainsley Coleman, and last year Allan Cousins – they were all nineteen years of age.’

  ‘The patterns could be spurious.’

  ‘Which patterns are you referring to?’

  ‘The fact that they’re all nineteen years old and that they disappeared on the 10th September.’

  ‘Yes, those are two of the patterns, but there are others – look at the names.’

  He looked, and saw immediately that the names all had the same initials. He nodded his head. ‘I’m a bit excited, Lola.’

  ‘Yeah, I thought you might be.’

  ‘And you think that every year on 10th September someone goes missing with the initials AC?’

  ‘There’s another pattern.’ She pointed to pencilled-in letters above the years.’

  Again, he saw it straight away. ‘Alternating boy-girl?’

  ‘Yeah. Now I’m not sure that’s really a pattern, because we only have seven MPs in twenty-eight years, but when I pencilled the letters in – it worked out with the names I had.’

  ‘So what’s the difficulty with the other years?’

  ‘Do you know how many MPs there are each year?’

  ‘Not a clue.’

  ‘One thousand cases every day, three hundred and sixty-five thousand last year, and every year it increases.’

  ‘That’s a lot of...’

  ‘Fifty-five to eighty percent of MPs return within 24 hours. Only around one percent remain missing each year.’

  ‘That’s still a lot of people.’

  ‘You bet. Between eight and thirty-five are found dead each week.’