The Wages of Sin (P&R2) Read online

  If he was going to get close to Parish he needed a disguise, but he had to be a bit more inventive than simply putting on a white coat and impersonating a doctor.

  An old man held up by a Zimmer frame – wearing pyjamas, dressing gown, and slippers – shuffled along the corridor, which gave Naylor an idea.

  Chapter Twenty

  ‘Doctor Murray has agreed to give Jed adrenaline,’ Angie said to Kowalski and the Chief. ‘You’d better come in if you want to ask him some questions. He won’t stay awake long, so you’ll need to be quick.’

  It was eleven-fifteen as the two followed Angie Richards into the ICU.

  The old man shuffling along the corridor with a Zimmer frame registered in their unconscious minds, but because they were thinking of Parish and Richards, because it was an old man, and because it was a hospital where everyone was anonymous, neither of them gave him any thought.

  Parish lay in the bed connected to a ventilator, a heart monitor, an intravenous infusion, and he’d had a catheter fitted because there was a half-full urine bag hooked onto the lower frame of the bed.

  Doctor Murray stood over Parish with a full syringe and needle. Angie had a notebook and pen in her hand.

  ‘He’ll have to write down the answers to your questions because he’s on the ventilator and the doctor won’t take him off it just yet.

  ‘Okay,’ Kowalski said.

  The doctor pushed the long needle through Parish’s ribs until it pierced the wall of his heart, and injected the adrenaline into the right atrium. They could see the heart rate increasing on the monitor: 85 – 93 – 99 – 104 – 115 – 127… An alarm activated, and Angie turned it off.

  Parish jerked, opened his eyes wide, and started to choke. Angie leaned over him so that she could be seen and put her hand in his. ‘Jed it’s me, Angie, try to calm down and breathe through your nose. You were injected with heroin, and you’re now in the intensive care unit. You won’t be awake long, so we have to be quick – Mary is missing.’

  Parish nodded.

  Kowalski stepped forward. ‘We have no idea where Richards is, we think the killer’s taken her – can you help?’

  Parish nodded again and tried to speak.

  Angie pushed the notepad and pen into his hand.

  He wrote:

  BRIEFCASE – LIST

  DESK – SMALL BLUE CAR (SPK DOC MICHELIN)

  SAVE HER RAY?

  Ray Kowalski was about to say he’d try his best, but Parish had already lapsed back into unconsciousness, and Doctor Murray and Angie were busy making sure Parish had survived the ordeal.

  As Kowalski and the Chief turned round, they saw Naylor wearing pyjamas and a dressing gown over his street clothes holding a thin dark-haired young nurse with E. RHODES RGN on her name badge in front of him as a shield. A gun with a silencer was pointed at her head, and anyone who knew anything about human shields, would have known that Naylor knew what he was doing.

  ‘Naylor?’ Walter Day said. ‘You’ll never get away with this.’

  ‘I’ve been getting away with it for years, Walter. I just need to finish this little job, and then I’ll be out of your hair for good. Tell them to put their weapons down and move up the other end of the ward,’ he said indicating the two plainclothes coppers who had their Glock 17s out pointing at him and Nurse Rhodes.

  Kowalski nodded at the two men. ‘Do it,’ he said.

  ‘Right, everybody move away from Parish,’ Naylor said.

  ‘You don’t want to do that, Trevor,’ the Chief said.

  He grinned, but his eyes were cold and steady. ‘It’s the only thing I want to do, move.’

  Kowalski and the Chief began to move to the other side of the room. Doctor Murray had already shifted to the other end of the ward.

  Angie stood in front of Parish shaking and said, ‘No.’

  Naylor gave a wry laugh. ‘So, you’re the bitch he’s been screwing?’ He didn’t wait for confirmation, but shot her in the chest. As Angie’s legs buckled and she fell to the floor, he took aim at Parish.

  Kowalski used the distraction of Angie’s bravery to pull his gun from its holster, release the safety, and fire at Naylor. The sound of the discharge in the confined space of the ICU made everyone flinch.

  Nurse Rhodes fainted.

  Naylor’s gun bounced and slid across the shiny floor, coming to a stop by the wall under Parish’s bed. Naylor left a trail of blood as he disappeared through the door.

  Kowalski called the two plainclothes officers back to pick up their weapons and said, ‘Find him. If you have to kill him, so be it.’

  They nodded and ran out of the door following the blood trail.

  Doctor Murray had come back down the ward, and Nurse Rhodes had recovered. They were now trying to keep Angie Richards alive while they waited for help to arrive.

  ‘You have to find Richards now, Kowalski,’ the Chief said. ‘Let’s make all this worthwhile.’

  Kowalski was already on the phone. ‘Toadstone, Richards has gone missing, did you find Parish’s briefcase in his car?’

  ‘Yes, Sir, but…’

  ‘Get it down to Ed Gorman in the squad room now.’

  ‘Will…’

  Kowalski was already ringing Ed. ‘Hi Ed. Listen, I’m on my way in. Parish thinks the killer was one of the men on a list in his briefcase. Toadstone is bringing the briefcase down to you now. Also, on Parish’s desk is something about a blue car – get it.’

  ‘I’m…’

  But Kowalski was hyped up, working in overdrive, and had already ended the call and was ringing Doc Michelin. ‘Is that you, Doc?’

  ‘Who do you think normally answers my phone, Kowalski?’

  ‘I haven’t got time to tell you everything that’s happened, Doc, but we think Richards has been abducted by the killer.’

  ‘My God. What…?’

  ‘Parish thinks you might know something about a small blue car?’

  ‘A small blue car…?’ There was a long silence.

  Kowalski was sure he could hear Doc Michelin’s brain whirring.

  ‘I went for dinner at his house… There was a small blue car with a man sat inside parked along the road. I thought it was odd, and mentioned it to Parish. By the time Parish went out to look it had gone.’

  ‘What type of car was it?’

  ‘Sorry, they all look the same nowadays.’

  ‘What about the man?’

  ‘He was big like you, Kowalski that’s why I noticed it in the first place. He seemed out of place in such a small car.’

  ‘Did you see his face?’

  ‘A profile, nothing more.’

  ‘Thanks, Doc.’

  ‘You’re…’

  He’d already disconnected. ‘Ed?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘What was on Parish’s desk about the car?’

  Ed Gorman read out the message.

  ‘It’s my bloody fault, Ed.’

  ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘I told Parish to let Richards do the press briefing, that’s where the killer chose her.’

  ‘You don’t know that, Ray. I heard the killer was punishing people for their sins. What’s Richards ever done?’

  ‘Don’t ask me how I know, I just know, Ed. Have you got the list from Parish’s briefcase?’

  ‘Yeah, I’ve already sent a squad car to every address on it, and I’m running all the names through the DVLC database to see which of them has a blue car.’

  ‘Good job, Ed. I’m on my way.’

  ‘Listen, Ray, all the addresses on the list are scattered around Grove Lane in Chigwell. That’s half way between the hospital and here. It’s not worth you coming here to go back again. We’re using the Chigwell Row United Reform Church at the end of Chapel Lane, opposite Lodge Close as a base of operations – I’ll meet you there, in say half an hour?’

  ‘Tell me again why you’re not a DI, Ed?’ He didn’t wait for the answer, but ended the call.

  The Chief stared at him. �
�Well, what are you waiting for, Kowalski?’

  Just then, the two plainclothes coppers came back shaking their heads. ‘He got away, Sir,’ the taller of the two said.

  ‘Hopefully, he’s on his way to Tahiti,’ the Chief said. ‘You two are to protect Parish. Nobody gets near him except Doctor Murray, or Nurse Rhodes. Is that clear?’

  ‘They nodded. ‘Yes, Sir.’

  ‘What about the other two?’

  ‘Dead, Sir.’

  ‘It’s hard to believe Naylor was one of us,’ Kowalski said.

  ‘Why are you still here, Kowalski?’ the Chief asked.

  ‘Angie… How is she, Sir?’

  ‘They’ve rushed her to the operating theatre. You’re job now is to find Richards. When Angie wakes up, I want to tell her we’ve found her daughter, Parish is fine, and the fucking birds are singing. Are we clear on that?’

  ‘You’ll ring me?’

  ‘We’re not dating are we, Kowalski? Of course I’ll ring you with any developments, and you’ll ring me. Now, will you get out of here.’

  Kowalski was already on his way out of the door. As he bounded down the stairs he felt a sharp pain in his chest, which speared along his left arm. He ignored it.

  ***

  Trevor Naylor decided that payback had been achieved. He would liked to have killed Parish, but even though he hadn’t he knew the fucking bastard wouldn’t forget him in a hurry. He’d shot his woman, hit her in the chest. With any luck, she’d die, he thought. I lose my job he loses his woman, that’s a fair swap.

  He hadn’t anticipated Kowalski having a weapon. A mistake, old age was creeping up on him, time he got out and put his feet up. Even though Kowalski had shot him in the arm and shattered his humorous, he still liked the bastard, thought he was a damned good cop.

  After ripping off the dressing gown and pyjamas in a stairwell, he tore a strip from the pyjama trousers to wrap around the wound and staunch the bleeding. It looked as though he’d been lucky – the bullet had entered through the front of his arm, done its damage, and exited through the back leaving a gaping bloody mess in its wake. He fashioned a sling from the rest of the material and made his way back to the car. His right arm was useless, and he had to drive using only his left hand, but at least he could change gear.

  Now, he needed some medical treatment before he lost his arm. He had a couple of weapons still in the boot, and he’d use them to get that treatment somewhere close to Luton Airport, so that any problems he might have wouldn’t prevent him from catching another flight. The flight he’d booked had left without him, but there were plenty more. Now, he’d simply have to buy a ticket on the first plane that was due to leave, and from wherever it landed make his way to Bahrain.

  There were no issues with time or money – he had abundant amounts of both. The important consideration now was that Trevor Naylor had disappeared from the face of the earth, and Tom Peters was travelling to Bahrain for some rest and recuperation. He wondered if they had prostitutes and decent beer over there.

  ***

  Saturday, 6th March

  Much to the disgust of Father John Yetton – the Vicar of the United Reform Church at the end of Chapel Lane in Chigwell – Ed Gorman had taken over the building and re-organised the inside as an Incident Room. The pews had been turned sideways and pushed up against the walls to make room for the tables, chairs, computers, phones, and all the other necessities required for instant communication. A Hyundai 15kva diesel single phase silenced generator hummed outside in the back of a large police truck, and the power cables snaked their way inside to feed the machines.

  The church itself was a medium-sized stone building with an arched door, lots of matching arched windows, and a new slate roof with three solar panels on each sloping side. Twelve heaters – powered by the generators, and strategically positioned around the inside – kept the chill from the air.

  ‘You do realise its Sunday tomorrow, Ed?’ Kowalski said when he strolled into the church. ‘People will arrive in the morning desperate to sing, pray, and self-flagellate. The vicar will be ready to preach his previously prepared sermon about eternal damnation and the fires of hell, and then you move in with your infernal devices and make yourself at home. You’re gonna burn in the pit, Ed.’

  ‘Thanks for that, Ray. Do you want a coffee?’

  ‘When have I ever said no?’

  Ed signalled to a uniformed copper to do the honours from the generator-powered coffee machine.

  ‘How’s Parish?’ Ed said.

  Kowalski told him what had happened at the hospital. ‘I think he’ll pull through, but it’s touch and go with Angie.’

  ‘I never liked Naylor. I hope he bleeds to death in a rat-infested sewer somewhere.’

  ‘Tell me what’s happening here?’

  ‘I’ve stood the chopper down. They’ll never find a single Mercedes van from up there.’

  Kowalski took the steaming mug of coffee from the Constable, nodded, and gulped a mouthful. ‘Okay. What about the list?’

  ‘There are thirty-one names on it.’

  ‘Did you cross-reference with blue cars?’

  ‘There’s a problem.’

  ‘Oh?’

  ‘New cars purchased in the last six months aren’t on the DVLC database. They had a new computer system put in, which refused to work, and now they’ve got a backlog.’

  ‘And?’

  ‘Six of the thirty-one names have blue cars, but we can’t eliminate the other twenty-five because of the incomplete database, so we’re having to interview everyone on the list.’

  ‘And how’s that going?’

  ‘Slowly. Don’t forget its…’ he checked his watch, ‘…ten past two in the morning, Unlike us, people are in bed asleep. We’ve already started getting a bunch of complaints about heavy-handedness, waking law-abiding citizens up, frightening the cat, the dog, and the neighbours, putting two old people in the hospital with shock… you know the thing?’

  ‘Yeah.’ He put his coffee down on the desk and perched on the corner rubbing his left arm.

  ‘You okay, Ray?’

  ‘Just an ache, must have pulled something when I shot Naylor.’ He looked at Parish and Richards’ incident boards that had been brought from the station. ‘This is some sick bastard, Ed.’

  ‘Aren’t they all, Ray?’

  ‘How many squad cars have we got out?’

  ‘Seven.’

  ‘Fucking hell, Ed, is that all? It’ll take us until hell freezes over to get to the end of the list, and Richards may not have that long. We need more people.’

  ‘We haven’t got more people, Ray.’

  ‘Then we need to ask other stations for help.’

  ‘The Chief won’t be happy at you spending all his savings.’

  ‘He wants Richards found alive, Ed. The money isn’t important. Remember she helped him through his prostate cancer. Walter Day doesn’t forget something like that, and neither do I. Get on the phone, I want at least another seven units here, and I want them now not at nine o’clock in the morning.’

  ‘I’m on it.’

  Kowalski’s mobile rang. The display indicated it was the Chief. ‘ Hi, Chief. How’s it hanging?’

  ‘Angie’s out of the operating theatre and in a bed next to Parish. They’re both holding their own. We’ll know more in the morning.’

  ‘That’s good news, Sir.’

  ‘What’s happening with the search for Richards?’

  Kowalski told him where they were, what they were doing, and that they were calling in more men.

  ‘Well done, Kowalski. Richards is our priority now. The budget savings were nice while they lasted, but if I had to choose…’

  ‘I know, Sir, that’s why I’ve been flashing the cash like a high roller.’

  ‘Let’s not go overboard, Kowalski. Remember I still have to account for all this expenditure to the Chief Constable, but if you find Richards alive he’ll be more than happy to sanction it.’

 
‘Yeah, everyone likes Richards, Chief.’

  ‘Even serial killers, Kowalski.’

  The Chief ended the call.

  Kowalski paced up and down in front of the incident boards rubbing his left arm and trying to ease the pain, which seemed to be getting worse.

  Ed was on the phone.

  He called over Sergeant Kristina Jackson who was manning a bank of telephones that weren’t ringing, which made him think about arranging a press conference.

  ‘I need another map of the area,’ he said to her. ‘I want you to mark the thirty-one addresses on it, and bring it up to date, so that I can get an overview of what’s happening.’

  She nodded and scuttled off.

  He signalled to a thin spotty Constable who seemed to be doing nothing in particular. ‘Ring the Press Officer. Tell him I want a press conference outside the church in an hour, and he’s to get his arse out here to help me.’

  ‘Have you got his number, Sir?’

  ‘What’s your name, Constable?’

  ‘Palgrave, Sir.’

  ‘Have you got a brain, Palgrave? Find his number for fuck’s sake, and when you’ve done that, get me another coffee.’ He thrust his empty mug at the wide-eyed young man.

  ‘Yes, Sir.’

  Kowalski sat down in a plastic chair near the desk that Ed was sat at. He felt lousy. His arm and the back of his head had developed pins and needles. ‘Have you got that coffee yet, Palgrave?’ he shouted.

  ‘Coming, Sir.’

  ‘There’s three cars being sent from Cheshunt,’ Ed said, ‘and another four from Finchley. They’ll be here within the hour.’

  ‘Good job, Ed.’

  ‘How many of the thirty-one have been eliminated from consideration?’

  ‘Three.’

  ‘Three?’