The Kisses of an Enemy: (Parish & Richards 17) Read online

  ‘I’m staying here.’

  ‘You’re a wimp.’

  ‘Is that instead of, or as well as being a brainless numpty?’

  ‘As well as.’

  Chapter Four

  Once they’d discovered where Lisa Cabot had gone missing, they questioned the children at length. First as a group and then each one individually, but nothing new came out of the additional questioning. The children had seen lots of cars, men, women and dogs – it was the time of the day when people were on their way to work, to school, to everywhere, but they hadn’t seen anybody or anything out of the ordinary. Parish and Richards had got all the information they were going to get from the children, and there was no concrete evidence that Lisa Cabot had been abducted. But if she hadn’t – where was she?

  Last of all, and once all the other children had been thanked for their help and sent back to their classrooms, they spoke to Jimmy Williams.

  ‘Hello, Jimmy,’ Richards said, sitting cross-legged on the floor in front of him.

  ‘Hello, Miss.’ He didn’t appear especially nervous, but Richards had trouble keeping eye contact with him.

  ‘Is there anything you can tell us about why Lisa has gone missing?’

  ‘I don’t think so.’

  ‘Do you have a mobile phone?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘And we know Lisa has one too.’

  ‘The same one as me. We both got them for Christmas.’

  ‘Did you speak to her last night?’

  ‘No – we texted.’

  ‘What about this morning?’

  ‘No. We don’t text in the mornings.’

  ‘What did you text each other about last night?’

  ‘Oh, you know?’

  ‘No, I don’t know. Can you tell me?’

  ‘Nothing much.’

  ‘Can I take a look at your phone, Jimmy?’

  ‘It’s private.’

  ‘Lisa could be in danger.’

  ‘No, she’s . . .’

  Richards glanced at Parish.

  ‘It’s time to tell the truth, Jimmy,’ Parish said.

  ‘She made me promise.’

  ‘I’m sure she wouldn’t want you to keep that promise when everybody is trying to find her.’

  ‘She said she was meeting her father.’

  ‘Didn’t her father die three years ago?’

  ‘I thought so, but that’s what she said. I asked her how come, but she wouldn’t tell me anymore. She said it was a secret.’

  Richards interrogated Jimmy’s phone and wrote down the text messages between him and Lisa from last night. ‘Did you know about her secret father before?’

  Jimmy shook his head.

  ‘Did she mention anything about meeting him before last night?’

  ‘No . . . I should have told someone what she was doing, shouldn’t I?’

  ‘It’s not your fault, Jimmy,’ Richards said, putting her hand on his shoulder. ‘You weren’t to know.’

  ‘Are you going to find her, Miss?’

  ‘We’ll do our very best.’

  Once they’d finished talking to Jimmy, they made their way back to the Headteacher’s office, thanked her for her assistance and returned to the car.

  The temperature was a few degrees below freezing, the clouds were a low-hung dark-grey, and the Meteorological Office had threatened them with snow.

  ‘I hope Lisa Cabot isn’t outside in this,’ Richards said, blowing into her hands.

  Parish pulled a face. ‘If she is, she won’t last long.’ He called Anne Pollard and told her what he and Richards had been doing at the school all morning.

  ‘That’s brilliant. Good work, Jed.’

  ‘Thanks. We lost Lisa half-way down the end stretch of Lyttons Way, and according to her best friend – Jimmy Williams – she was meeting her father.’

  ‘No, that can’t be right. We’ve had it confirmed that Frank Cabot died three years ago on Echo74 oil rig platform in the Viking Gas Field operated by Caledonian Energy and served from Aberdeen. There was an investigation conducted by the Health and Safety Executive’s Energy Division, who are responsible for enforcing health and safety legislation on offshore oil rigs. They concluded the death was an accident, but lessons could be learned. There was a body in a coffin transported from Aberdeen to the funeral directors – Burgess & Son – on the High Street in Hoddesdon. The funeral was paid for by Caledonian – the whole works. Frank Cabot is now resting in peace in Hoddesdon Cemetery.’

  ‘Richards interrogated Jimmy’s phone and copied the texts into her notebook – that’s what Lisa said: She was meeting her father, but it was a secret. So I think you probably need to disturb Frank Cabot’s peace and quiet.’

  ‘Crap! Nothing’s ever simple, is it?’

  ‘If it were – we’d be out of a job.’ There were a number of possibilities as a consequence of the new information. Frank Cabot could be in the coffin and be Lisa’s father. In which case, who was pretending to be her father now? Frank Cabot could be in the coffin, but wasn’t Lisa’s biological father. In which case, who was? Frank Cabot didn’t die on the oilrig and wasn’t the body in the coffin. In which case . . . Well, that opened a whole new can of worms.

  ‘Just a minute . . .’

  He heard her talking with a man in the background who he guessed was Pike, then she came back to him.

  ‘That was the SIO. He thinks you and Richards should go and see Mrs Lassiter.’

  ‘Me?’

  ‘The SIO is too senior, I’m the Supervising Detective, which leaves you. You found out this new information, and it saves briefing someone else.’

  ‘Okay. What about my team here?’

  ‘You’ve got six officers, haven’t you?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Where are they now?’

  ‘Going house-to-house along Glenester Close, Stoneleigh Drive and Bridle Way South.’

  ‘I think they can stop doing that for now and report to Inspector Charlie Mathews from Traffic who’s in charge of the third team. I’ll brief him on what you’ve discovered about Lisa disappearing from Lyttons Way, and we’ll swamp the area with people – including your six officers.’

  ‘I’ll tell them. Also, there’s a couple of other things you should know . . .’ He told her about Mrs Bigby.

  ‘I’ll send someone to talk to her.’

  ‘And I think I know why Lisa’s mother was lying about not responding to the automated text message from the school earlier.’

  ‘Oh?’

  ‘She had a visitor after her husband and daughter had left. One of the children saw her letting a man in a dark blue suit into the house. He had a black car that he’d parked further along the road.’

  ‘You can ask her about that when you’re there as well. I’ll contact the Family Liaison Officer – Lorraine Stewart – and let her know you’re on your way, and why.’

  ‘Tell her we’ll be there in about twenty minutes.’

  ***

  ‘Are you going to help me, or not?’

  ‘Not.’

  ‘When I get this door open I’m going to leave you here, you know that, don’t you?’ As well as the main door, which was made from thick steel and impossible to open without a stick of dynamite, there was another door in the right-hand wall that she assumed led into the next room. It was made from aluminium, but was a sliding door with sealed runners, and there was a strong possibility that the two of them could open it using brute force and ignorance. The problem, of course, was that Stick possessed both of those qualities, but only the ignorance in abundance. On her own, she didn’t stand a chance of opening the door.

  ‘Okay.’ Stick’s voice came out of the darkness. ‘I hope they leave us in here for a couple of days. It’ll be good just to lie on the floor contemplating the nature of the universe, wrestling with the age-old philosophical problems and catching up with my sleep.’

  ‘If you don’t help me with this door, I’ll never speak to you again.’


  ‘That sounds like an attractive proposition.’

  ‘Don’t worry, I’ll remember everything you’ve said in here, Stickynuts. Women have a knack of remembering what men say and then using it against them many years in the future.’

  ‘Jen possesses that incredible ability as well. Why do you think DCI Ridge and the other teams haven’t come to our rescue yet?’

  ‘We’re expendable. Well, not me, but you. They’ve obviously considered the available options, and decided that in comparison with a successful operation in which they seize millions of pounds worth of drugs and save a heroic undercover police officer, you’re not worth a puddle on the floor. If you were worth anything then things might be different, but you’re not. So, you’ve dragged me down to your worthless level and I’ll be sacrificed on the bonfire of expediency just like you.’

  ‘Sorry.’

  ‘So you should be. Now, if you were to help me open the door your value might increase . . .’

  ‘No. I’m hungry. Did you bring any food with you?’

  ‘If I did, I wouldn’t be giving any to you. But there’s food on the other side of the door. I can smell lasagne, paella, cheeseburgers, sausages, mashed potato and gravy . . .’

  ‘If I thought you were telling the truth . . .’

  ‘You’d help me open the door?’

  ‘No. Do you think I’ll still get the QPM and meet the Queen?’

  ‘I’d say that was extremely unlikely now. Do you want to know why I think that?’

  ‘Because we’re stuck in here?’

  ‘In my experience, I’ve come to realise that “stuck” is such a flexible word, and is based on the degree of help given to you by other people in opening doors.’

  ‘I think I’ll have a nap now.’

  ‘Did you hear that?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘They’re doing something outside.’

  ‘I’ve found that speculation is the root of all evil.’

  ‘Have I ever told you that you’re the worst partner in the world?’

  ‘Yes, I think you’ve mentioned that a few times.’

  ‘Good, because I’d hate you to die not knowing the truth.’

  ‘Will you wake me up when dinner arrives.’

  ‘Dinner! Do you think they’re going to feed us? Do you think this is a fucking restaurant, numpty?’

  ‘I don’t see why they wouldn’t feed us.’

  ‘We’re witnesses.’

  ‘Witnesses to what?’

  ‘We know their names, what they look like.’

  ‘So what? They haven’t done anything.’

  ‘They’ve locked us in here against our will.’

  ‘It’ll be our word against theirs.’

  ‘If you help me with that door I’ll recommend you for immediate promotion to Inspector.’

  ‘No thank you. I’m happy as a Sergeant. I don’t think being an Inspector is worth the trouble.’

  ‘Especially when you have useless people working for you.’

  ‘Mmmm.’

  ‘Right, enough insubordination. I’m giving you a direct order. Help me with the door.’

  ‘Oh, in that case – no.’

  ‘Aren’t you here to protect me?’

  ‘One of my many functions as your useless partner.’

  ‘You’re not doing a very good job.’

  ‘How’s that?’

  ‘Well, I’m going to starve to death, or die of thirst. And not only that . . .’

  ‘Yes?’

  ‘I need the toilet.’

  ‘There are four corners in the room. I’ll turn round.’

  ‘Of course, that’ll help in the pitch blackness. That’s not what I mean though.’

  ‘Oh?’

  ‘I need a number two, not a number one. Well, I do need a number one as well, but once my bladder has been emptied, it’ll be directly followed by a number two.’

  ‘Ah!’

  ‘Exactly. And I’ve got a bit of a bad stomach at the moment, which might be to do with the vindaloo I had from the Indian takeaway last night. So, it would probably be in your best interests to help me open that door.’

  ‘Mmmm!’ She heard Stick stand up. ‘Come on then. What do you want me to do?’

  She smiled. It was only a matter of time before she yanked on the right string. ‘You lift it from the bottom and I’ll push it sideways . . .’

  She heard him grunt with the effort.

  ‘Not that bottom, the other bottom . . .’

  ‘You should have been a bit clearer . . .’

  It didn’t take the two of them long to derail the door from its runners and push it all the way open.

  ‘Phew!’ Stick said. ‘That doesn’t smell like any food I’m familiar with unless . . . ?’

  ‘Don’t be disgusting. Anyway, I didn’t have a vindaloo last night.’

  ‘And you don’t need a number two?’

  ‘As if I’d tell you if I did.’

  ‘I’ll never believe another word you say.’

  ‘Yes you will. Well, are you going in there to find out what that smell is?’

  ‘I don’t think so.’

  ‘You expect me to go in there?’

  ‘I’m a great believer in people leading from the front.’

  ‘You know that sooner or later I’ll get you to go in there, so let’s make things easy by you just going in there now and getting it over with.’

  ‘I can’t see.’

  ‘And?’

  ‘Well, if I can’t see, I won’t be able to tell you where the smell is coming from.’

  ‘Make your way around the wall to the door and try the light switch. I know the one in here doesn’t work, but that one might.’

  ‘I have a bad feeling about this.’

  ‘Stop being a cry baby.’

  She heard him step inside the other room.

  ‘Oh! It’s bad in here. I think it’s probably an animal that’s been dead for quite a while. There’s bluebottles in here . . .’

  ‘You mean blow flies?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Well, call them by their proper name. You’re not an amateur.’

  ‘Sorry. Yes, here’s the light switch.’

  The light came on.

  ‘Jesus!’ Xena said, once her eyes had adjusted to the naked light.

  Strewn about the floor of the room were three decomposing female bodies in various states of undress. She estimated that one had been there for at least three months, but another one was fairly recent – maybe a month.

  Stick hurried back round the wall, leapt into the storeroom and vomited against the back wall.

  ‘Well, that’s just fucking great,’ Xena said. ‘You could have done that in the other room. Now both rooms stink to high heaven.’

  ‘Sorry. We’d better shut that door.’

  ‘We’d better get the hell out of here, you mean?’

  ‘That was going to be my next suggestion.’

  ‘You’ll have to go back into that room.’

  ‘Me?’

  ‘Unless you’d like a lady to do your dirty work for you?’

  ‘Did someone else come into the room when I wasn’t looking?’

  ‘Do you recall what I said about remembering every utterance that comes out of your mealy mouth?’

  ‘I don’t care. There’s nothing you can say that will ever get me back into that room.’

  ‘It’s your own fault. You were in such a rush to get out that you forgot to check whether the door was unlocked.’

  ‘It could be, couldn’t it?’

  ‘There’s every possibility. So you’re going to have to go back in there and finish what you started.’

  ‘They’re going to kill us, aren’t they?’

  ‘The drug smugglers?’

  ‘Uh huh.’

  ‘You think they killed the women?’

  ‘Don’t you?’

  ‘No. These murders are something entirely different, Stick. I’d say this is the work of a ser
ial killer.’

  ‘A serial killer?’

  ‘Yes. And he hasn’t finished his work yet.’

  ***

  She opened her eyes.

  Where was she? What time was it? Why was she sleeping during the day?

  Then it all came flooding back to her. What had she done? Maybe she should sign herself out of the clinic. Maybe the whole thing was a bad idea. What time was dinner? What was for dinner? Nobody had asked her what she wanted for her last meal. Was there a menu? Was there any tea or coffee? What did Nurse Dimbleby say – dial ‘0’? She picked up the phone on the bedside table and dialled the magic number.

  ‘Hello, Miss Gibbs?’ a man’s voice said.

  He sounded effeminate. How did he know it was she who was ringing? ‘Any chance of a pot of coffee, por favor?’ They were the only words she knew in Croatian.

  ‘Of course, Miss. Milk and sugar?’

  ‘Please.’

  ‘I’ll send Augustus up with it on a tray.’

  ‘Very kind. Am I getting any dinner tonight?’

  ‘Would you like to see what’s on the menu?’

  ‘That would be good.’

  ‘Augustus will bring it up with your coffee.’

  ‘Thank you, . . . ?’ but the line was as dead as a dodo.

  She glanced at the clock on the wall – it was five past four.

  Just then, the door creaked open.

  ‘You’re going to hate me,’ Jerry Kowalski said.

  ‘Why – didn’t you bring me any grapes?’

  ‘I brought you something else instead.’

  ‘Oh?’

  Two familiar faces appeared round the door jamb – one on top of the other like something out of a TV sketch. ‘SURPRISE!’ Shakin’ Stevens and Joe Larkin shouted, grinning like village idiots.

  She looked at Jerry. ‘You’re right – I do hate you.’

  ‘They heard I was coming to see you and I couldn’t stop them.’

  ‘You look as beautiful as ever,’ Shakin’ said. ‘Would you like me and Joe to climb in bed with you and warm you up?’

  ‘I don’t think so.’

  Joe had found the Bluebird-patterned hospital gown she was no doubt expected to wear for her trip to the operating theatre in the morning.