There is no Fear in Love: (Parish & Richards #20) Read online

  There is no Fear in Love

  (Parish & Richards #20)

  Previously:

  A Life for a Life

  The Wages of Sin

  The Flesh is Weak

  The Shadow of Death

  His Wrath is Come

  The Breath of Life

  The Dead Know Not

  Be Not Afraid

  The House of Mourning

  Through a Glass Darkly

  A Lamb to the Slaughter

  Silent in the Grave

  In the Twinkling of an Eye

  A Time to Kill

  Deceit is in the Heart

  The Fragments That Remain

  The Kisses of an Enemy

  Evidence of Things Not Seen

  Dominion of Darkness

  There is no Fear in Love

  Coming later in 2016:

  For All is Vanity

  Tim Ellis

  __________

  Published by

  Koko Publishing Limited

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  Kindle Edition

  Copyright 2016 Timothy Stephen Ellis

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  Kindle 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.

  ___________

  All the characters in this book are fictitious, and any resemblance to actual persons living or dead, is purely coincidental.

  __________

  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.

  __________

  To Pam, with love as always

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  A big thank you to proofreader James Godber

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  There is no fear in love. But perfect love drives out fear, because fear has to do with punishment. The one who fears is not made perfect in love.

  (1 John iv 18)

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  Chapter One

  Sunday, February 28

  If he was ever asked, he could probably pinpoint the exact date he had become a serial killer – January 28, 2011. That had been his first kill, and he knew then that he was going to kill again. No one would ever ask him for that information though. Simply because they’d never catch him – he was far too clever to let that happen.

  He hammered the six-inch nail through Christy Henson’s feet and into the thick oak tree. He’d had her chained up for a week in the cellar of his lock-up. He’d built it specially for his victims five years ago.

  Following an argument with his mother, which seemed to be a regular occurrence these days, he liked to visit his lock-up and do things to the woman he had in there. It relieved the pent-up anger churning inside him that he would never dream of showing to his mother.

  Of course, he would never have had sex with his mother – the idea of such a thing made him shrivel up inside. Or, at least, that was what he kept telling himself, but wasn’t that who he was pretending each of the women were? Whereas, his mother was a bedridden wrinkled old crone, the women were all in their twenties, childless and attractive. And it was always a woman – he wasn’t a pervert leaning towards the other side.

  No, the sex he had with the women wasn’t about his mother at all – it was merely something he needed to do. It was to release the build-up of pressure inside him after his mother had made him feel small. She’d even said that out loud one time: “Get out you small, pathetic, little man.” Well, he showed her. Every time he went into the cellar of his lock-up he showed her.

  He hammered two six-inch nails through Christy Henson’s hands – one through her left hand, and the second through her right. It was dark – past midnight, but he stood back to admire his handiwork using a small battery-powered LED headlamp to see by.

  She looked very pretty. Well, it was only right and proper that he did right by her – she had provided him with hours of pleasure. And, like all of the other women, he’d loved them. If only for one short week. It had been a perfect love, but he knew all too well that love never lasted – especially a mother’s love.

  Before he packed up his tools and all the other equipment, he carved his mark on her forehead. He didn’t think the police would have any problem identifying who had killed Christy Henson – they’d had enough practice over the years, but he didn’t want to leave anything to chance.

  He walked back to the car on the road; put everything in the boot; took off the over-sized boots and replaced them with his much-smaller shoes; and then removed the forensic suit, gloves and mask, rolled it all up in a ball and slipped it into a black plastic bag.

  Once he was seated comfortably in the car, he slipped Richard Wagner’s Der Ring des Nibelungen into the CD player and turned the volume up to a creditable seven to welcome in the opera Das Rheingold.

  ***

  Monday, February 29

  ‘Keep going,’ Parish said, pushing her in the back.

  ‘Will you stop doing that?’ She began making retching sounds. ‘I feel sick.’

  ‘Ah! I’ve been wondering when you’d come up with that one.’

  ‘No! I really do feel sick.’

  ‘It could be something to do with the glasses of sloshing wine you drank and the mountain of roast beef, roast potatoes, Yorkshire pudding, carrots . . .’

  ‘You’re not helping.’

  ‘You know what to do. I’m sure that people out walking their dogs will have no sympathy at all . . . And I hope you’ve brought a plastic bag with you?’

  ‘What for?’

  ‘To pick up your effluent, so that you can take it to the nearest waste bin.’

  ‘Don’t be disgusting.’

  ‘What would be disgusting is if you left your effluent at the side of the track for people to tread in, or for animals to eat.’

  ‘Now I really do feel sick.’

  ‘So, you didn’t feel sick before?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Keep going.’

  ‘How far have we gone now?’

  ‘Three hundred yards.’

  She laughed. ‘More like three hundred miles.’

  ‘You wouldn’t know what a mile was if it jumped up and bit you on your fat arse. Did you enjoy Ray and Jerry’s Sunday lunch yesterday?’

  ‘It made a nice change. And it was good to see them both again. I can’t believe he’s not coming back after the Chief Constable said he could.’

  ‘You couldn’t believe he’d gone in the first place.’

  ‘I know. I hate change.’

  ‘What about DCI Nibley? Don’t you like him?’

  ‘Like! What’s to like about him? He’s just there, isn’t he?’

  ‘You mean he has no charisma?’

  ‘Yes. No charisma. And he looks weird, as well. And his body is a weird shape. And . . . I don’t know.’

  Parish grunted. ‘Better the Devil you know.’

  ‘At least he hasn’t come in and changed everything about, has he?’

  ‘No. For the time being he seems happy with the status quo.’

  ‘How far now?’

  ‘Three hundred and fifty yards.’

  ‘You’re such a liar. Maybe I should get my own pedometer?’

  ‘Do you think knowing how far you’ve run will make it
any easier?’

  ‘Easier! How will it be easier if I know or not?’

  ‘Well, it’s all mind over matter.’

  ‘You mean, you don’t mind and I don’t matter?’

  ‘Now, you’re getting the hang of it – keep going.’

  ‘What will you do when you have no one left to push?’

  ‘There’ll always be someone to push, Richards. If not you, then some other workshy underling. Have you written out your transfer request to join those glory hunters at the Met yet?’

  ‘I’m having second thoughts about that.’

  ‘And I thought today was going to be a good day.’

  ‘I know you don’t mean that. What would you do if you didn’t have me?’

  ‘Celebrate! I’d call up all the people I know in my address book and say, “Let’s party!”.’

  ‘Can I come?’

  ‘No. You’re in training.’

  ‘There’ll be no party anyway, because I’m not going anywhere.’

  ‘Your mother will be disappointed.’

  ‘No, she won’t.’

  ‘Yes, she will. Only the other day she was wondering when you were going to get yourself a man, leave home, settle down and start having her grandchildren.’

  ‘All of the other bits depends on me getting a man, and that doesn’t seem to be happening anytime soon.’

  ‘What about that Shakin’ Stevens who was giving you the gladeye at lunch yesterday?’

  ‘He’s too young.’

  ‘Three years is hardly too young.’

  ‘I want a man who’s older than me. And anyway, he’s a bit flaky.’

  ‘Meaning?’

  ‘Well, he’s looking at me, but he came with that Dixie Chivers. She seemed to be a very nice person. He’s like a little boy left alone in the sweetie shop. I’m looking for more than a one-night stand.’

  ‘Good for you. There’s a lot of celebrities, professional men and even one of the eligible Princes who run in the London Marathon, you know.’

  ‘I could marry into the royal family.’

  ‘It’s not so far-fetched. Lady Mary Richards.’

  ‘I like the sound of that.’

  ‘You can stop here.’

  ‘Stop!’

  ‘Yes.’

  Richards slowed to a stop and sat down on a rock puffing and panting.‘

  ‘What are you doing?’

  ‘Sitting down.’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘You said I could stop.’

  ‘All right! You stop here and I’ll head back. I’m sure the Chief will understand your absence when I explain why you’re not there.’

  ‘You didn’t say make a u-turn, you said stop.’

  ‘What would be the point of stopping here, Richards? We’re in the middle of nowhere. Your body has convinced your mind that stop really does mean stop – not make a u-turn and head back.’

  She pushed herself up. ‘You should say what you mean.’

  ‘And you should stop looking for any excuse to stop.’

  ‘How far – the truth this time?’

  ‘Eight miles.’

  ‘Eight miles! That’s . . . It’s . . .’

  ‘Eight miles?’ Parish suggested.

  ‘Yes! And you’re expecting me to run another eight miles to get home?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘I feel sick.’

  ‘Keep going.’

  ‘Maybe you could call a rescue helicopter?’

  ‘Have you broken any bones?’

  ‘Well . . .’

  ‘Keep going.’

  ‘Or the mountain rescue team?’

  ‘We’re nowhere near a mountain.’

  ‘They have St Bernard dogs with barrels of expensive red wine round their necks, don’t they?’

  ‘Of course they do.’

  ‘Eight miles! That’s nearly a third of a marathon, isn’t it?’

  ‘Are you using a calculator to work that out?’

  ‘And when we reach home, we’ll have run two thirds of a marathon. I’ll only have to do another ten miles and I’ll have run a whole marathon. I can do it, can’t I?’

  ‘Yes, you can do it, Richards.’

  ‘I never believed it – until now.’

  ‘I always believed you could do it.’

  ‘I know you did.’

  ‘Well, nearly always.’

  ‘Not at first?’

  ‘No. How much sponsorship have you collected for the Police Benevolent Fund?’

  ‘Lots.’

  ‘Which is?’

  ‘Sixty-seven pounds fifty.’

  Parish half-laughed. ‘Sixty-seven pounds fifty! How many starving ex-police officers will that feed? You’d better pull your finger out.’

  ‘I know! I’m embarrassed about asking for money. How much sponsorship have you collected?’

  ‘Five thousand three hundred pounds.’

  ‘Noooo!’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Maybe you could . . .?’

  ‘No – get your own.’

  ‘Please?’

  ‘Keep going.’

  ‘You know a lot more people than I do.’

  ‘Rubbish.’

  ‘And now I can’t ask the people we both know.’

  ‘You should have thought about that before. And anyway, you don’t know who I’ve asked. Did you ask anybody at the lunch yesterday?’’

  ‘No – we were out to lunch.’

  ‘That’s where you’re going wrong, you see. You have to use every opportunity. It’s not about you, it’s about those starving ex-police officers. You have to be hard-faced about it.’

  ‘I’m not like that.’

  ‘No. As a general rule, you’re not hard-faced. But you did put on your hard face when you were interviewing Selwyn and Portia Kingdom, didn’t you?’

  ‘I had to.’

  ‘No one’s suggesting you should be hard-faced all the time – God forbid . . .’

  ‘DI Blake is.’

  ‘She’d like you to think she is, but she’s not.’

  ‘Really?’

  ‘Really. Everybody has the same fears and doubts.’

  ‘Even you?’

  ‘Even me.’ He pushed her in the back. ‘Keep going.’

  ‘You’re a pig.’

  ‘One of my fears is that people will think I’m a pig.’

  ‘That fear has already come true.’

  ‘Keep going.’

  ***

  ‘Well?’ Xena said, as she climbed into the car and Stick set off towards the station.

  ‘Well, what?’

  ‘Is Jenifer pregnant yet?’

  ‘It’s only been a couple of days since we decided to make a baby, and we’re not even trying yet.’

  ‘Not trying! Has Jenifer been having headaches?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘So, she wants sex, but you don’t?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘Is that “No” you don’t want sex?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘Do you sleep in separate bedrooms?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘Maybe you’ve got one of those bolsters between you, and you’re struggling to climb over it.’

  ‘No.’

  ‘Maybe you’re not interested in women in that way? Or maybe you’re not interested in Jenifer in that way? Have you told her? Who’s the other woman?’

  ‘There’s no other woman.’

  ‘It’s a man then?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘Then what’s your problem? Most men would jump at the chance of making a baby. It gives them added oomph.’

  ‘I’m not most men.’

  ‘That’s true. In fact, you’re not even least men. So, tell me what’s going on, Stickamundo.’

  ‘We’re just waiting for the right time.’

  ‘The right time! What time would that be?’

  ‘Jenifer believes that all the portents have to align.’

  ‘Portents! She wanted the fucking baby in the first
place.’

  ‘Yes, but she wants the right baby.’

  Xena laughed. ‘The crazy bitch. A baby is a baby, isn’t it?’

  ‘Apparently not. She’s been doing some research on the right time to have a baby. Studies have shown that the month a baby is born can have a massive impact on the rest of their lives.’

  ‘And what do you think about that? Are you as crazy as she is?’

  ‘I just want Jenifer to be happy. I certainly don’t want to produce a baby that starts off with a disadvantage. Do you know that dentists are born in December, musicians are born in February . . .?’

  He pulled into the car park and they made their way into the station.

  ‘What a load of garbage! So, what you’re telling me is that, not only is she deciding when the baby is born, but also when you can have sex?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Where’s the spontaneity in that? I hope you’ve booked her a padded cell of her own at the funny farm?’

  ‘It’ll be all right.’

  ‘It won’t be all right, Stick. She’ll be as crazy as this until you decide that enough is enough and tell her to pack her bags.’

  ‘I love her.’

  ‘Love shouldn’t come with conditions.’

  They walked into the squad room.

  Parish and Richards were sitting at their desks.

  DCI Nibley was parked on Stick’s desk swinging his legs and said, ‘Did you take the long route, Blake?’

  ‘I didn’t know there was a long route, Chief. Make a note of that, Sergeant. In future, we’ll alternate between the long and the short routes to confuse the press.’

  ‘I have murders,’ Nibley said.

  ‘Not for us, Chief,’ Xena said, taking her coat off. ‘We only popped in for coffee, and then we’re off into Hoddesdon to do a spot of window-shopping and maybe get a tattoo or two. We’ll probably be back after lunch slightly the worse for wear.’