The Wages of Sin (P&R2) Read online

  ‘They say it takes all types, Constable,’ Doc Michelin said putting the last of the chocolate donut in his mouth.

  Parish finished his tea and stood up. ‘Thanks for all your hard work, Doc. I hope I don’t ever see you again, but I have the feeling you’ll be buying me lunch very soon.’

  ‘Glad to see you back, Parish. Good luck with the case, I hope you get a break soon because these murders are particularly unpleasant. Not that all murders aren’t unpleasant, but… Nice to see you as well, Constable Richards. Keep smiling.’

  ‘I will, Doc. Goodbye.’

  They walked out of the cafeteria together and then went their separate ways. Doc Michelin returned to the Mortuary. Parish and Richards headed for the main entrance.

  ‘Hurry up, Richards,’ Parish said checking his watch as they walked out into the cold wind. ‘It’s twenty to two already.’

  Richards was running to keep up with Parish’s huge strides. ‘I’m coming, Sir. Stop being mean.’

  ***

  Parish and Richards entered Hoddesdon Police Station at ten past two. Daniel Jeffers from GCHQ didn’t arrive until three-fifteen. When Richards saw him her face dropped.

  ‘Sorry I’m late,’ Jeffers said looking like a caricature of an academic. ‘Trains aren’t what they used to be.’ He had straw-like shoulder-length grey hair that had been blown every which way by the wind, crumpled threadbare clothes under a dirty black coat, a battered brown briefcase, and a pair of reading glasses attached to a fluorescent green neck string and perched on the end of his hooked nose.

  ‘Have you booked into a hotel yet, Mr Jeffers?’ Parish asked.

  ‘No, and it’s Doctor Jeffers actually, but I prefer Dan if that’s all right with you?’

  ‘Dan it is then,’ Parish said. ‘You must be tired after your journey? Do you want to book into a hotel this afternoon, and then we can start on the messages tomorrow?’

  Jeffers put his briefcase down on Richards’ desk and leaned on it. ‘I understood that a killer had murdered two women, Inspector?’

  ‘That’s right.’

  ‘Then booking into a hotel can wait. If my limited expertise can prevent another murder, I suggest you let the fox into the henhouse so to speak.’

  ‘What do you need, Dan?’

  ‘A desk, a plug socket, and some peace and quiet. Oh, and the killer’s messages, of course.’

  ‘Would you like something to eat or drink?’

  ‘If a tuna and cucumber sandwich and a mug of tea could be rustled up that would be fabulous, but I certainly don’t want to put anybody to any trouble.’

  ‘It’s no trouble, Dan. Do the honours, Richards.’

  Richards gave him a look of disgust, and then headed towards the cafeteria.

  Parish took Dan to the incident room and gave him copies of the messages.

  ‘Mmmm,’ Jeffers said when he looked at the writing. ‘I see what you mean. It shouldn’t take me long to identify the languages he’s written the messages in, but then it will probably get more complicated. I doubt very much that we will see the message once we decipher the language.’ He put his briefcase on the table, opened the catch, and withdrew a wafer-thin piece of aluminium. He found a wall socket and plugged the power lead in, came back to the table and opened the computer up.

  ‘Very nice,’ Parish said.

  ‘You’re looking at a hundred-thousand-pounds worth of quantum computer that takes advantage of superposition and entanglement phenomena. Its Top Secret and still under development. In fact, it shouldn’t even be out of the laboratory, so keep it under your hat, Inspector.’

  Richards came back with a plate of sandwiches and a mug of tea on a tray and put it down on the table. ‘Sorry Sir, I didn’t know whether you liked white or brown bread, so I got you both.’

  Jeffers smiled. His teeth were heavily stained. ‘Thank you very much, young lady, most kind. Either will do very nicely.’

  ‘We’ll leave you to it, Dan,’ Parish said. ‘If there’s anything you need just stick your head out of the door and shout, someone will come running. Richards and I are out and about, but I’ll leave instructions.’

  ‘Thank you, Inspector, I’ll be fine.’

  ‘We’ll come back for you at five-thirty and take you to a hotel.’

  Jeffers nodded, but his attention was already focussed on the messages spread out before him.

  Parish and Richards left and shut the door.

  ‘Do you think he’ll solve the messages, Sir?’

  ‘I think he’s got more chance of deciphering them than you had, Richards.’

  She gave him a sheepish grin. ‘What now, Sir?’

  ‘Now, we go and annoy Toadstone in forensics. Which reminds me, what’s happening between you two?’

  They walked through the squad room and headed towards the stairs.

  ‘What do you mean, Sir?’

  ‘If my memory module is still functioning correctly, weren’t you going to go out with him after you’d solved the last case?’

  ‘I said I’d think about it, but I had other priorities, Sir.’

  ‘Which have now miraculously disappeared.’

  ‘He’s ugly, Sir.’

  ‘On the outside, but on the inside…’

  ‘Unfortunately, I still have to look at him. Ugly people should go out with other ugly people.’

  ‘One night to say thanks wouldn’t be too much of a hardship.’

  ‘Couldn’t I just buy him a box of chocolates, Sir?’

  ‘You do what you think is right, Richards, don’t let me influence you one way or the other. Oh! Why did you look so disappointed when you saw Dr Jeffers before?’

  ‘I was hoping GCHQ would send a young, good looking and brilliant scientist who would sweep me off my feet. We’d fall madly in love, and he’d whisk me away to a desert island where we’d live happily ever after.’

  Parish adopted a useless German accent. ‘I see, and how long ‘ave you been experiencing these delusions, madam?’

  Richards laughed. ‘Since you and my mum started living together, it’s made me want someone of my own.’

  ‘You’re beginning to sound a bit desperate, Richards.’

  ‘I am, Sir. I haven’t been out with a man for… See it’s been so long that I can’t even remember when my last date was. And don’t mention Toadstone, I’m not going out with an ugly person.’

  ‘Have you tried an Internet dating site?’

  ‘That’s really desperate, Sir.’

  ‘You are really desperate, Richards. I don’t see you have a whole lot of other options.’

  The conversation ended as they walked through the automatic double glass doors into forensics.

  Chapter Four

  Parish and Richards ignored the blonde-bobbed receptionist behind the desk in forensics and followed Toadstone who was ambling down the corridor reading, and didn’t see them sneak up behind him.

  ‘Anything interesting, Toadstone?’ Parish said in his ear.

  Toadstone jumped and dropped the typed-written paper. ‘Inspector Parish! I’m glad to see you’re back, but after all the help I’ve given you I didn’t think you’d come up here and try to give me a heart attack.’

  ‘How old are you, Toadstone?’

  ‘Twenty-six.’

  ‘You can rest easy. The average age for a first heart attack is sixty-six.’

  ‘How do you know this stuff, Sir?’ Richards said.

  ‘You should know by now, Richards that I’m a veritable genius.’

  ‘What’s your IQ, Sir?’ Toadstone asked.

  ‘Haven’t got a clue, but I’m sure my old friend Albert has nothing to worry about.’

  Toadstone bent and picked up the paper that he had dropped. ‘I’m a member of Mensa, Sir, I could arrange for you to be assessed? Albert Einstein’s IQ was estimated to lie between 160 and 180. I have an IQ of 152. Anything over 140 is classified as a genius or near genius.’

  ‘So we’re both geniuses, Toadstone. What abou
t you, Richards, are you a genius as well?’

  Richards pulled a face. ‘I don’t think so, Sir.’

  ‘I can arrange for both of you to be tested?’

  ‘If you hadn’t heard, Toadstone, we’ve got another case to solve. And as interesting as finding out one’s IQ classification might be, it is way down the list of our priorities at the moment, but thanks for the offer.’

  ‘What about after you’ve solved the case?’

  ‘We’ll see. Now, Toadstone, what have you got for me so that I can solve the case?’

  ‘I’ve written a report, Sir. I knew you’d be on my back as soon as you returned to work.’

  ‘On your back, Toadstone? You make me sound like a whip-carrying overseer on a plantation. We all have people “on our back”. You and Richards have me, I have the Chief, and he has the Chief Constable, who has the Police Commissioner, who answers to the Government, who are responsible to you as a voting member of the public. That’s the way our capitalist democracy works. So, it’s actually your fault that “I’m on your back,” Toadstone. If you weren’t such a hard taskmaster, I might be able to let you take things easy now and again.’

  ‘That’s very funny, Sir,’ Richards said laughing.

  ‘It wasn’t meant to be funny, Richards. It’s just the way the mop flops. So, instead of making me read loads of facts, Toadstone, tell me briefly in non-genius language – so Richards can understand – what’s in the report.’

  ‘I could be a genius, Sir,’ Richards said.

  ‘The jury’s still out on that one, Richards.’

  ‘Don’t be mean, Sir. We’ll have to get tested after we’ve solved the case. I’ll show you. I bet I’ve got a higher IQ than you.’

  ‘Now see what you’ve done, Toadstone.’

  ‘I think you’ll find that you’re the architect of your own can of worms, Inspector.’

  ‘Let’s move on, shall we?’

  Toadstone began walking along the corridor to his laboratory and talking at the same time. ‘I obtained a copy of the forensics report for the Tanya Mathews’ crime scene from 2003, so I’ll tell you about that first. The body was discovered in a derelict school. I wasn’t here then, but there’s no doubt that the collection and analysis of evidence was conducted within the procedures at the time. The forensics team accumulated a mountain of evidence, which was fairly useless because they had nothing to compare it against. However, the Susan Reeves murder has permitted comparisons to be made. The crime scene this time was an abandoned warehouse. Again, a considerable amount of evidence was amassed.’

  They reached Toadstone’s lab. ‘Can I interest you in a tea or a coffee?’ he asked.

  On a workbench, Parish noticed a glass container perched on a tripod with a Bunsen burner underneath. Next to it sat three heavily stained coffee mugs. ‘Not for me, Toadstone, but Richards might want something?’

  ‘I’ll have a cup of tea, Paul,’ Richards said. ‘Thank you.’

  Toadstone went over to a kettle in the corner behind the door and flicked the switch. Next to it were tea, coffee, sugar, a teapot, and a stack of clean cups and saucers. While he prepared cups of tea for himself and Richards he said, ‘Let me reconstruct the two crimes for you. The killer abducted each woman during daylight hours using chloroform to immobilise them, so he probably has a van with either a sliding side door or double back doors. He sexually assaults the victim, probably in the van, but he might take them somewhere else.’

  He passed a cup and saucer to Richards, then sat down on a stool with his own steaming mug of tea and continued. ‘Once he’s finished abusing the women, he takes them to where he plans to kill them – the school or the warehouse. He removes their eyeballs and puts them into a container. Then he stabs them the forty-plus times, slashes their abdomen, pushes a meat hook through the soft flesh of their left ankle, and hangs them upside down like a piece of meat. He then carefully arranges their clothing. Yes, I know Tanya Mathews was stabbed and slashed after she was hung upside down, and apart from the number of stab wounds that is the only variation between the two murders.’

  ‘Well, the van is something to go on,’ Parish said. ‘Did you find tyre tracks at the crime scenes?’

  ‘No,’ Toadstone said. ‘The van is purely speculation on my part. I couldn’t imagine how else the killer could have abducted the women in broad daylight and transported them to where he killed them.’

  ‘Correct me if I’m wrong, but aren’t you forensic types meant to be scientists? Without hard evidence it can’t be proven and therefore doesn’t exist. Speculation and imagination are at the other end of the continuum. How do you explain that, Toadstone?’

  ‘Sometimes, us “forensic types” like to step out of our comfort zones, Inspector.’

  ‘I get paid for speculating and imagining, Toadstone, your job is to produce hard facts. Talking of which, have you got any for me? As grateful as I am for your help in reconstructing the crime, something I could easily have done for myself by the way, what Richards and I really came up here for was evidence, clues, leads, something tangible that will point me in the killer’s direction. Have you got any of those for me?’

  After Toadstone had taken a sip of his tea he said, ‘There were no visible or latent fingerprints. The blood, bloodstains and other bodily fluids belonged to the victims. There was nothing of any interest under the victim’s fingernails. Because the buildings had concrete floors, there was no impression evidence from tyres or footwear. Blood patterns told us only that the victims were stabbed and slashed at the locations where they were found, and then bled out. Both buildings were abandoned and had been used by vagrants, squatters, and children, so there was a lot of trace evidence such as hair, fibres, dirt, food waste, glass, clothing, cigarette buts, matches, and so on. We compared everything that was found at both crime scenes and discovered some fibre similarities, but nothing that I can say belongs to the killer. If you catch him, then I might be able to place him at the crime scenes, but otherwise I can’t help you, Inspector.’

  ‘You could have written that on a post-it note: No forensic evidence as usual. Your friend, Toadstone.’

  Richards hit him on the arm. ‘Stop being mean, Sir. I’m sure Paul does his best.’

  ‘You needn’t defend me, Mary. All the detectives are the same. They think I’m a magician instead of a scientist.’

  ‘Assaulting your boss could get you into serious trouble, Richards.’

  She ignored him. ‘Can’t you help us at all, Paul?’

  ‘I have one suggestion.’

  ‘You’re not going to be rude in front of a lady are you, Toadstone?’

  ‘I know you’ve called in Daniel Jeffers from GCHQ to decipher the messages. He’s a member of Mensa as well, by the way.’

  ‘Do you Mensa people have a secret handshake so that you can recognise each other?’

  Toadstone gave a brief smile. ‘Anyway, as well as deciphering the messages, I suggest you get the handwriting analysed by a Graphologist.’

  Parish said, ‘We’d be lucky to find anyone who could analyse the handwriting of ancient languages.’

  ‘I know someone.’

  A mask of scepticism slid down over Parish’s face. ‘Oh?’

  ‘She’ll do it for free as long as you agree to let her use you as a reference if it leads to the identification of the killer.’

  ‘And what will I get for my money?’

  ‘Whereas a criminal profiler will give you a psychological profile based on the killer’s behaviour, a Certified Graphologist will provide you with a profile of the killer’s personality based on his handwriting. Both profiles should compliment each other.’

  ‘Or we could just get the free handwriting profile and save ourselves a fortune on a criminal profiler,’ Parish mused. ‘It is the end of the financial year after all. The Chief would be impressed by my frugality.’

  ‘Yes Sir, but if the press got hold of it they would turn you into the most hated person in the country – possibl
y the whole world – for putting money above saving women’s lives.’

  ‘That’s not what I meant, Richards, and you know it. If both profiles are the same, why do we need two? If one is free and the other one costs thousands of pounds, which one would you buy?’

  ‘Both.’

  ‘This is another lesson on being a detective, Richards. If you were the Chief Constable and you had two detectives, one who was a high roller and had no idea about budgets, or one who achieved value for money and budgeted effectively, which one would you choose?’

  ‘That’s not fair, Sir, money shouldn’t come into it.’

  ‘Money comes into everything, Richards. Why do you think a nearly new PC is standing here as the partner of a Detective Inspector?’

  ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘Money, Richards. The Chief saw an opportunity to save money when I co-opted you from Cheshunt police station. Instead of paying the salary of an experienced detective, he said I could have you instead because you’re cheap.’

  ‘I didn’t know that, Sir.’

  ‘Well now you do, Richards. All our money comes from the government. The Chief has to justify all expenditure to the Chief Constable, who… Do you get the idea, Richards?’

  ‘I suppose so, Sir.’

  ‘The dire financial situation is Toadstone’s fault as well. He wants to see value for money. If it wasn’t for him we could pay ourselves extortionate salaries, fiddle our expenses, and go on jollies all around the world.’

  ‘Like members of parliament, Sir.’

  ‘Exactly, Richards. The honourable members get away with it because they make the rules and vote to hide the facts under layers of bureaucracy so that Toadstone can never find out the real truth. We’ve found out this time because somebody slipped up, but they won’t make the same mistake again. So, in the end, Richards, it all comes down to money. Am I right, Toadstone?’

  ‘You’re right, Sir.’

  ‘There we are, Richards. If Toadstone agrees with me it must be true, and you can take it to the bank and use it as collateral for a loan.’