His Wrath is Come (P&R5) Page 3

  ‘If’n you say so.’

  ‘If it’s all right with you Lola, I’d like us to go into an incident room and put something on the board, so that we’ve all got a clear idea of what we’re dealing with.’

  ‘Works for me, boss.’

  He led the way out into the corridor. The second room he looked in was empty.

  ‘Lola works in Missing Persons and she’s found some patterns. Do you want to do the honours, Lola?’

  ‘It’s just you two is it?’

  ‘Yes, just us two.’

  ‘Cause Lola don’t want to make no impersonation to a room full of highfalutin people.’

  Richards glanced at Parish and smiled.

  ‘No, we’re the only people,’ he confirmed.

  ‘Okay then.’

  Lola reproduced a vertical representation on the whiteboard of the horizontal paper she had shown Parish. Down the left and continued down the centre were the years from 1984 – 2011. The even years were in green, and the odd years were in red. Against some of the years she wrote male names in green, and female names in red. Right at the top, she put 10th September.

  ‘Oh my God,’ Richards said. ‘Alternating males and females with the same initials have been going missing on 10th September since 1984.’

  ‘You seen it a lot quicker that he did,’ Lola said.

  ‘They’re not children are they?’ Richards said turning to look at Parish.

  Underneath the date Lola wrote – Aged 19 years.

  ‘I’m glad, I don’t like child cases. So, have all these people been murdered?’

  Parish shook his head. ‘No, we’re simply going to make some enquiries.’

  ‘You think it’s a serial killer, don’t you?’

  ‘Did I say that?’

  ‘You don’t have to, I know you.’

  ‘You mean you think you do.’ He looked up at Lola. ‘Here’s what I was thinking. Lola, you can stay here and try to fill in the missing years while Richards and I go out and make some enquiries. Now, I know you’re running Missing Persons, so you can only devote a certain amount of time to this case. What it does mean, however, is that you can keep everything relating to the case on your desk up here, use the computer, and update the incident board with any new information. How would that be?’

  ‘I don’t get to go out on these enquiries?’

  ‘If you’re out with us, no work will be done on the missing years. Also, I’m sure Inspector Threadneedle would notice you were a missing person from Missing Persons.’

  His little joke fell on deaf ears as Lola crossed herself when he mentioned Inspector Threadneedle’s name, and he could understand the sentiment. Maureen Threadneedle was a fearsome woman. She was in charge of daily operations and hated everyone, especially jumped-up detectives. If he saw her walking towards him, he’d duck into the nearest available room until she’d gone.

  ‘Yup, we don’t want to attract Threadneedle’s attention. That’d be like the devil casting his eyes over you.’

  ‘Maybe later, if we find that there’s something to investigate and it’s not just a whole series of coincidences.’

  ‘I can hold off with those long pins until such a time comes,’ Lola said.

  ‘Very kind. Tell us what you’ve got on Allan Cousins who went missing last year.’

  ‘Excuse me?’ Richards said.

  ‘The Inspector is galloping on, and you want to know why Lola ain’t got no names in the other years?’

  Richards smiled. ‘Well, yes.’

  ‘Takes a time to track them down. I was telling the Inspector only yesterday that there’s a mass of MPs – that’s what I calls them – go missing every year. I have to sift and sort and well... you wouldn’t believe it. Then I sees this pattern and I get sidetracked, so I been hunting these MPs with the initials AC for only about a week, but track them all down I will. There’s no hiding from Lola Laveque.’

  ‘I see.’

  ‘Satisfied now, Richards? Can we move on?’

  ‘So, none of these MPs have been found dead or alive?’

  Parish’s brow creased. ‘Haven’t I answered that question already?’

  ‘Just checking.’

  ‘Allan Cousins, Lola?’ He turned to Richards. ‘We’ll focus on the last person to go missing and see what we turn up.’

  ‘Seems like a good plan.’

  ‘I’m glad you approve.’

  Lola opened up a beige covered file. ‘Allan Cousins was 19 years old when he went missing on the 10th September last year.’

  ‘Did anybody actually investigate his disappearance at the time?’ Parish asked.

  ‘Nope.’

  ‘Then what’s the point in people reporting their loved ones going missing if nobody looks into the disappearance?’

  ‘Statistics. You know I’m beginning to wonder how you ever solve any of your cases. Seeing as you’re an Inspector I was expecting a bit more insight, knowledge, maybe some dispositions. I reckon it’s Constable Mary who solves all the cases, and you just boss her around.’

  ‘She’s very clever isn’t she, Sir?’

  ‘Don’t start, Richards.’

  ‘If we looked into every person who was reported missing there’d be no police doing anything else. Children – eighteen years and under – those are the only MPs we make enquiries about.’

  Richards shuffled on her seat. ‘So, these nineteen year-olds fall just outside that?’

  ‘Yup.’

  ‘Interesting.’

  ‘An interesting coincidence,’ Parish said. ‘I suppose the policy on MPs is common knowledge?’

  ‘Common in what way? All the plods know about it, but we don’t advertise it to the public.’

  ‘But it’s not Top Secret, is it?’

  Lola leaned towards him. ‘Do we have Top Secret in the Police Force?’

  ‘No, I don’t think so.’

  ‘Well then, stop trying to trick Lola.’

  ‘Sorry.’

  Richards said, ‘You were thinking that maybe it was a policeman...’

  ‘Stop putting thoughts in my head, Richards. I was merely wondering if we could limit the number of suspects, but if it’s not Top Secret then anybody could know.’

  ‘Do you still want to know about Allan Cousins, or are we just chewing the fat now?’

  ‘Carry on, Lola.’

  ‘Went missing from Staple Tye shopping centre after work, but lived at number 97 Pyenest Road in Great Parndon.’

  ‘I don’t suppose...’ Richards began to say.

  ‘Not after ten months,’ Parish said.

  ‘Are you talking in secret code?’

  ‘Oh sorry, Lola,’ Richards said. ‘CCTV footage. Ten months is a long time to keep any security coverage of the shopping centre. They’ve probably deleted it after all this time.’

  ‘Don’t you two go speaking in code and cutting me out of conversations, you hear.’

  ‘No, no, we weren’t doing that, Lola,’ Parish said. ‘We’re so used to working together that we know what the other is thinking or saying before they finish, so we interrupt each other a lot. If you hear us talking like that, just say.’

  ‘You ain’t forgot I got your poppet in the drawer?’

  ‘I ain’t... haven’t forgotten.’

  ‘Good... I’d hate it if you forgot, because you seem like such a nice kinda person.’

  ‘I promise I won’t forget.’

  ‘Okay. So, his mother – Mrs Brenda Cousins – reports him missing three days later.’

  ‘Why...?’ Richards began.

  ‘She was asked, “Why three days?”, but we’re talking about a nineteen year-old man – not a child – had a job in the precinct, a recent ex-girlfriend, mates he went drinking with... So, he could have been anywhere, but she got concerned when he didn’t ring, and he wasn’t answering his mobile.’

  ‘And he’s still missing?’

  ‘Yup.’

  ‘And nobody followed up on the missing report?’

>   ‘Nope.’

  ‘Okay, seems like a good place to start.’

  Richards was writing in her notebook. ‘So, we’ll go and see his mother, his boss, and the security people at the shopping centre?’ Richards said.

  ‘Yes, and don’t forget his ex-girlfriend, and we should also talk to his friends as well.’

  ‘Do you know where he worked, Lola?’

  Lola rummaged through the file until she found it. ‘Here it is. He worked at Shoes 4 U as a Sales Assistant.’

  Parish stood up. ‘Okay, let’s get started. Thanks very much, Lola. Richards and I will go out and do some groundwork, and we’ll see you back here in this room at... Now, we have to brief the Chief at five, so shall we say four-thirty just to keep everyone in the loop?’

  Lola nodded. ‘Works for me, Boss. Now, you do realise I’ll be up and down those stairs, because for one my main job is downstairs in Missing Persons, and for two I don’t want the devil’s spawn to find out what I’m doing with you two contraceptives.’

  Richards laughed. ‘You do know you keep saying the wrong words?’

  ‘Ain’t no nevermind. You having trouble understanding me?’

  ‘Well no...’

  ‘Maybe I should go and have a word with Inspector Threadneedle?’ Parish suggested.

  Lola crossed herself again. ‘I always says that if’n you don’t ask then you can’t get a no, and devil spawn is more’n likely to say no, mark my words.’

  ‘I’ll leave well alone then, but if she happens to find out what we’re doing I’ll have no choice but to speak to her.’

  ‘Don’t worry, I know how to avoid devil spawn, been doin’ it for years.’

  ‘Okay.’

  Chapter Three

  The parish of Great Parndon was abolished in 1955. Now it was just a small part of Harlow. It was twenty to eleven by the time they arrived at 97 Pyenest Road.

  After leaving the station, they had walked up the High Street, turned right, crossed over onto Brewery Road, and entered O’Flynn’s Garage to sign out a pool car. Parish left Richards to complete the paperwork, and because they were late asking for a car they ended up with a tatty seven-year-old Ford Mondeo with 176,000 miles on the clock that shuddered when Richards changed gear, and stank of Doner Kebabs.

  They followed the A414 to the Allende roundabout, skirted round Princess Alexandra Hospital, and turned down Third Avenue until they reached Abercrombie Way – Pyenest Road was half-way down.

  Parish knocked on the glass in the uPVC door of the three-bedroom semi-detached house. He heard two screaming kids run up the stairs, and a man’s voice shout, ‘Quietly.’

  The door opened. A man in his early thirties with a potbelly and receding hairline stood before them. ‘Yes?’

  ‘We were looking for Mrs Cousins.’ He held up his warrant card.

  ‘You’ve found Allan?’

  ‘No, we’re re-examining the case.’

  ‘That presupposes you examined it in the first place.’

  ‘Who are you?’

  ‘Trevor Cousins, Allan’s brother.’

  ‘We’d really like to speak to your mother.’

  ‘Yeah I bet you would. Hoodwink an old woman into believing you’re doing everything you can to find her son when really you’re doing bugger all.’

  Parish didn’t bother responding.

  ‘You’d better come in then.’ He stood to one side to let them in.

  Two boys, about eight years of age, were sitting on the top stair whispering and staring at them.

  ‘We have guests, you’d better go out and play in the back garden. I’ll come out as soon as I can.’

  The boys clattered down the stairs and ran past them along the hall.

  ‘Why boys can’t do things quietly I have no idea. Come through.’

  He led the way along the hall into the back room and through that into a conservatory.

  ‘Mum, it’s the police.’

  An emaciated woman in her late fifties or early sixties was sitting in a rattan chair and looked up at them expectantly. Her face was wrinkled like ancient chamois leather, and she had a dark brown mole on her chin from which protruded three long hairs. ‘You’ve found...’

  ‘No mum, they haven’t found Allan. Useless bastards couldn’t find their own arses in a toilet.’

  ‘Trevor, don’t be so disgusting. This is still my house, so you’ll treat my guests with respect, do you hear?’

  ‘If you say so, mum.’

  ‘Please sit down,’ she said to Parish who led the way.

  The conservatory was bright with sunlight splintering in through the window blinds. They sat next to each other on a two-seater rattan sofa like sardines wedged into a tin. Parish decided to move and sit in the other rattan chair.

  ‘Would you like a nice cup of tea?’ Mrs Cousins asked.

  Parish wasn’t that bothered, but he hoped that if he said yes the brother would be asked to make it. He wasn’t in the mood for a confrontational conversation.

  ‘Yes, please,’ he said.

  ‘Trevor, make yourself useful.’

  ‘I’m a bloody skivvy that’s...’ he mumbled as he left.

  ‘Been made redundant you know, wife ran off and left him with those two boys, couldn’t afford to pay the mortgage...’ She shook her head. ‘I don’t know what the world’s coming to any more. So, I’ve allowed them to stay here. Well, I haven’t got long for this world as you can see, I have muscular dystrophy. And now that Allan... Anyway, it’ll be his when I’m gone.’

  ‘I’m sure you have another fifty years left,’ Richards said.

  ‘Very kind of you to say so, dear, but since Allan went missing I’ve been going downhill. It won’t be long now.’

  ‘You’ve still got Trevor and your two grandchildren.’

  She leaned forward and whispered. ‘Whoever took Allan took the wrong one. And those two children... In my day we used to have manners, children were seen and not heard. Now... well, children need discipline, and lots of it.’

  A ball bounced off the conservatory.

  ‘Trevor, tell them,’ she shouted through the open door into the back room.

  Parish didn’t think she was that ill if she could shout so loud.

  ‘Reggie, my late husband, used to keep that back garden looking like Kew Gardens, but since those two tearaways arrived it resembles a dump. The sooner I’m gone, the better. Trevor...’

  Trevor came in with a tray and put it on a lump of driftwood that had been fashioned into a coffee table.

  ‘I’ll pour,’ said Mrs Cousins. ‘You go and sort those thugs out.’

  ‘I wish you wouldn’t call them that, mum.’

  ‘You and Allan were never like that.’

  ‘We weren’t allowed to be.’

  ‘You can go,’ she said dismissing her son as if he were the hired help. She then poured three cups of tea and said to them. ‘Help yourselves to milk, sugar, and biscuits.’

  Leaning to his left, because the frond of a rather large fern in a pot by the chair brushed his face, he shuffled forward in the seat. After depositing two sugars and milk in his tea, he was feeling a bit peckish so helped himself to a chocolate digestive and a custard cream, and then shuffled back again. Given the opportunity, he would like to have ruthlessly pruned the fern with a sharp pair of secateurs, but he contented himself with crunching the biscuits.

  ‘You’re not a dunker then?’

  It took him a while for the question to sink in. He smiled. ‘No, I don’t dunk my biscuits.’

  ‘There’s nothing I like better than a dunked Rich Tea biscuit,’ Mrs Cousins said pulling half a soggy biscuit out of her cup of tea. ‘Mind you, most of the biscuit ends up floating on top of the tea. They don’t make Rich tea biscuits liked they used to... or maybe it’s those tea bags... or it could be a combination of both.’

  She fell silent.

  Parish had the eerie feeling that if they didn’t get onto the subject of Allan Cousins soon, they’d be
stuck here forever talking about the consistency of Rich Tea biscuits. The lyrics of Hotel California by the Eagles popped into his head – You can check out anytime you like, but you can never leave...

  ‘We read the missing persons report on Allan, Mrs Cousins. Is there anything else that you can remember?’

  ‘Why are you asking?’

  ‘All I can say at the moment is that we’re looking into a number of missing person cases.’

  ‘Well, I don’t know as there’s anything else I recall – it was ten months ago.’

  ‘You’ve heard nothing?’

  ‘Not a peep. I ring his mobile every now and again, but it goes to his voicemail, so I leave another message. If he were able to he would have rung me, sent me a postcard, or come home. I’m not holding out much hope now.’ She pulled a handkerchief out of her sleeve and dabbed her eyes. ‘Allan was my favourite. He would have made something of himself. Oh, I know he was working in a shoe shop, but he had three A-levels you know. It was just to tide him over until he got a proper job.’

  Richards got up, knelt on the floor next to Mrs Cousins’ chair and put her arm around the old woman’s skeletal shoulders. ‘He’d recently finished with a girl...’

  ‘Don’t you talk to me about that harlot – morals of an alleycat. I told Allan he couldn’t bring her back here anymore.’

  Richards glanced at Parish and rolled her eyes. ‘Why?’

  ‘Told him she was pregnant... Allan should never have... Well, you know? She would have dragged him into the gutter if he’d still been here.’

  ‘Have you got her name and address, please?’

  ‘I wish I didn’t. The evil bitch keeps phoning here demanding to know where he is – she doesn’t believe he’s gone missing. I’ve had the Child Support Agency knocking at the door. She wants her share of the house and my savings for her brat, that’s what it is.’ She rummaged on a table until she found a small red address book. ‘Her name is Ruthie Suddick, she lives in a council flat on the Bush Fair estate, Flat 13, Cowper Gardens, CM18 4NQ.’

  ‘What about his friends?’

  The way that Richards was wheedling information out of the old woman Parish thought that she resembled a ferret down a rabbit hole.

  ‘His best friend was Peter Field.’ She consulted her red book again. ‘He lives at 17 Spinning Wheel Mead, Latton Bush, I’m sorry I haven’t got the postcode.’