Chapter Seventeen

 

 

Toadstone was waiting for them in the incident room.

You've got to love what's lovable, and hate what's hateable, Toadstone. It takes brains to see the difference.’

One of my favourite quotes by Robert Frost.’

Richards leaned down and kissed him on the cheek. ‘And you’re one of my favourites, Paul.’

Toadstone’s face lit up like a safety match.

I’m reserving judgement,’ Parish said. ‘First, tell me what you’ve got for us.’

We found DNA on the rake handle, the copper wire and the paper that the prayer was written on, but there was no corresponding match on the database.’

We know that already. Doc Riley said there was a match with what she’d found on the nose and mouth of the victim.’

Oh! Well, we’ve identified the shoeprint. It is a woman’s size five shoe as I said. That type of shoe can be bought from ShoeShop on the High Street for nineteen pounds ninety-nine . . .’

Richards began updating the incident board with the new information.

You’re beginning to depress me, Toadstone,’ Parish said.

I can only tell you what we’ve found, Sir. The woman’s height is between five foot three and five foot six, and she weighs between a hundred and thirty and a hundred and fifty pounds.’

Correct me if I’m wrong, but aren’t those averages?’

It’s hardly my fault the killer is an average woman.’

Nothing’s ever your fault, is it? Is that it then?’

No, I have more. We found nothing untoward on Paul Gifford’s computer.’

Great.’

I also had the handwriting on the note analysed.’

Parish raised an eyebrow. ‘Oh?’

Toadstone passed him and Richards a typed one page report.

They were quiet while they read it.

 

 

This is an example of a high-level Schizoid-type frozen handwriting, which is compulsively separated and tense. It is left slanted, has strange beginnings and endings, is very narrow, the long horizontal bars are written with greater pressure than the rest, the lower zone is emphasized, and there are deformed letters and angles.

 

 

The writer is egotistical and wants to be the centre of attention. She is focused on what she wants now, not thinking of the consequences of her actions. She has not dotted her lower case i's, j's except for one i, which means that she can be extremely careless.

 

 

Most lower zone letters have small loops which means that she has restricted her social circle to a few friends.

 

 

She has a domineering personality – note some of the t-bars dropping downwards with sharp endings. This means that she has a strong desire to be in control of people and situations at whatever cost.

 

 

Lower case o's open in the left side indicating greed, acquisitiveness to materialistic things. She uses little imagination and is inflexible in her approach.

 

 

The spaces between letters in words is larger than normal so she is self-confident, the spaces between words is large so she has problems dealing with other people. The overall size of her writing is large, and indicates that she is easily distracted. The rounded tops of the m and n letters shows she is very intelligent, but also indicate an immature and childish mentality, not a complex one.

 

 

She shows an inability to feel guilt or remorse, and she truly believes that any decision she makes is the only one that is right. Anyone who impedes or discourages her pleasure should be eliminated. She is proud of herself, and believes that others should be impressed with her decisions. Her only worry is that they might not see things as clearly and simply as she does, and try to accuse or malign her.

 

 

Elizabeth Percival BA (Hons), MBIG (Dip)

 

 

Richards brow furrowed. ‘What does MBIG stand for, Paul?’

Member of the British Institute of Graphologists.’

Of course.’

Parish grunted. ‘Quakery, Toadstone. I thought you were a man of science.’

I am.’

This is pseudoscience.’

Brainwriting.’

Hogwash.’

Elizabeth Percival is well-respected in her field.’

There’s absolutely no evidence to support graphology.’

Many swear by it.’

I’ll swear in a minute.’

And yet . . .’ Richards interrupted them. ‘The handwriting analysis suggests that the person who wrote the prayer is a Schizoid-type psychopath – how would she know that?’

If Toadstone asked her to analyse an example of handwriting, it wouldn’t be hard to guess the example belonged to a killer, would it?’

I didn’t tell her,’ Toadstone said.

Does she know you work with us?’

Well . . .’

Of course she does. You wouldn’t be wasting funds asking her to analyse the handwriting of a normal person, would you? Let’s move on – assuming you do have something else for us.’

As instructed, we checked the stocks of Fentanyl on the Adult Surgical Day Unit – everything was in order.’

Did she have access to any other stocks?’

No, although . . .’

What?’

Did you know that Mrs Gifford has only been working on the Adult Surgical Day Unit for five months?’

Meaning?’

Well . . . meaning she was on another ward before that.’

Which ward?’

I thought you’d know.’

He looked at Richards. ‘Phone the hospital now. Find out which ward she worked on before.’

Richards was eventually put through to the hospital Personnel Department and they provided her with the information. ‘Acute Orthogeriatrics – Erica Ward,’ she said. ‘They’re faxing through her complete work record.’

Why didn’t we already know she worked on another ward before?’ Parish asked her.

Richards shrugged. ‘I don’t know. We agreed the killer wasn’t anybody in the family.’

That doesn’t mean we don’t do a full check to eliminate them as suspects.’ He turned to Toadstone. ‘I want checks of the Fentanyl stocks carried out on Erica Ward and anywhere else she worked . . . In fact, do the whole hospital to be on the safe side.’

Toadstone nodded, picked up his own mobile phone and made the arrangements. ‘It’s being done.’

Parish pursed his lips. ‘Better late than never, I suppose. Are we done now.’

Yes, but unrelated to the case . . . Mary, you asked me to look at the diary.’

She smiled. ‘Oh yes.’

You know about the indentations, don’t you?’

What indentations?’

He opened the diary randomly, held the book up and separated a page so that the light from the window was behind it. ‘There are lines under certain letters throughout the dairy.’

They looked and felt the small ridges on the page.

Come on, Toadstone,’ Parish said. ‘Stop being so secretive – say what you mean.’

I thought I was.’

Well, the love of your life and me haven’t got a clue what you’re waffling on about.’

Richards slapped Parish on the arm. ‘Stop embarrassing Paul.’

Toadstone’s face resembled the Olympic flame. ‘Loveday has used a code to say something else.’

A code?’ Parish rubbed his hands together. ‘Now you’re talking in a language we understand.’

Richards’ eyes opened wide. ‘What does it say?’

I don’t know yet.’

Parish’s eyes narrowed to slits. ‘You don’t know? That’s like a joke without a punch line.’

I ran out of time, and I didn’t want to duplicate your efforts. I thought you might already know about the indentations . . .’

Excuses, Toadstone. The only thing that matters is results, and you don’t have any as usual.’

I’ll work on the diary tonight, Mary. I’ll have the results for you first thing tomorrow morning.’

Standing up Parish said, ‘Make sure you do. Right, come on Richards. Let’s go and tell the Chief that our lack of progress is due entirely to Toadstone’s inability to find any evidence. I don’t want him thinking that it has anything to do with us.’

He’s only joking, Paul.’

Parish gave half a laugh. ‘You think?’

 

 

***

 

 

‘We need to look in Clarice’s bedroom,’ Xena said.

Why?’ Mrs Kennedy asked. ‘The other officers went through her bedroom with a fine-toothed comb when Clarice first went missing.’

They didn’t know what they were looking for then.’

And now you do?’ she scoffed.

We have a better idea.’

Such as?’

Xena thought Mrs Kennedy resembled a sniffer dog trying to find drugs in the luggage area at the airport rather than a grieving mother, but she also knew that grief came in a number of very different stages. They had already witnessed Mrs Kennedy’s disbelief and isolation when they’d first informed her of her daughter’s murder. Now, Xena guessed that the first stage had been replaced by anger and the need to blame someone. In the coming weeks the second stage would be replaced by bargaining, depression, and finally acceptance.

They were still standing in the hallway of the large five-bedroom house and Xena said, ‘Shall we go inside? There’s something we need to tell you.’

Dorothy Kennedy led them into a cluttered living room that smelled of dog with a hint of air freshener. With tails wagging, an Irish Wolfhound and a Daschund came up to greet them.

Clarice’s father said, ‘Are you any closer to finding her killer?’

Yes we are,’ Stick said, as he sat down on one of the two sofas and scratched the Wolfhound’s head.

Xena didn’t mind dogs, but she didn’t really like to smell of them, and she knew she would for the rest of the day.

What do you want to tell us?’ Dorothy said.

You should sit down.’

Just tell us. Nothing you say could be any worse than Clarice being raped and murdered.’

There was no easy way to say it, so Xena made it simple. ‘She was pregnant.’

The blood drained from Mrs Kennedy’s face, and she began to collapse.

Her husband caught her and guided her into a chair.

Dorothy shook her head. ‘No, that can’t be right.’

There’s no doubt.’

The rapist made her . . . ?’

She was twelve weeks. She had a boyfriend.’

Clarice would have told us.’

Our understanding is that he was much older than her – that’s why she didn’t tell you.’

Oh God.’

Who?’ Walter Kennedy asked.

Xena was sure that if the father of Clarice’s baby had been in the room, Mr Kennedy would have ripped him apart with his bare hands. ‘We don’t know yet. That’s why we’d like to search Clarice’s bedroom again.’

Mr Kennedy stood up. ‘Come on, I’ll show you where it is.’

They followed him through the rooms and up the stairs to Clarice’s bedroom.

Do you want me to stay?’

Stick put his hand on the man’s shoulder. ‘You get back to your wife, we’ll be all right.’

If you’re sure.’

We’re sure.’

He nodded and started down the stairs.

Xena opened the bedroom door. It was dark inside, so she switched the lights on. The curtains were drawn. Time had been suspended. First, by a missing daughter, and then by a murdered child who would never come home and sleep in her bed again.

You’re not going to say anything, are you?’ she said.

Absolutely not. You did what you had to do. There was no right or wrong way to say that.’

I’m glad you agree.’

We’re looking for her school books, aren’t we?’

Yes.’

It didn’t take Stick long to find what they were looking for. ‘Alicia Love was right,’ he said. ‘There are hearts all over Clarice’s folder and in her notes.’ He passed the A4 project folder to Xena.

She was a good artist,’ Xena said, admiring the intricate heart designs peppered on the inside covers of the folder and the copious pages of notes.

It seemed like Clarice was good at everything.’

Some people are like that.’

Stick looked at her. ‘Were you good at everything?’

Everything that I wasn’t meant to do and that didn’t involve any work on my part.’

I tried to be good at things, but I wasn’t.’

You’re brilliant at carving animals out of wood.’

I taught myself how to do that about seven years ago.’

There you are then.’

And you’re a brilliant detective.’

She nodded. ‘That’s true.’

They sat next to each other on Clarice’s bed and stared at the pair of Gothic-type hearts drawn on the lined page. They were dripping blood-red and connected to each other by what appeared to be blood vessels. Inside the left heart Clarice had written her own initials – CK, and in the right heart – AE.

We’re not looking for a Carl, are we?’ Stick said.

I shouldn’t think so.’

They carried out a thorough search of the rest of the bedroom, but found nothing else except Xena found a piece of paper with a brief note from AE hidden in a secret compartment of a jewellery box:

 

 

Love is composed of a single soul inhabiting two bodies.

 

AE

 

 

She put gloves on, picked the piece of paper out of the compartment and slipped it into a small evidence bag.

I’ve seen that before,’ Stick said.

Yes?’

I can’t remember.’

You’re a numpty.’

They went back downstairs.

Mrs Kennedy was still devastated, but appeared to have made a slight recovery. Her husband was sitting on the arm of the chair with his hand in hers.

Did you find what you were looking for?’ Mr Kennedy asked.

Xena sat on the sofa opposite them. The two dogs waddled up to her for some attention, but she ignored them. ‘Yes, in part. I said we didn’t know who her boyfriend was, and that’s true. However, we were informed by two of her friends that she was calling him Carl, but we now know that is not his name.’

What is his name?’ Mrs Kennedy asked.

All we have are two initials – AE. Do they mean anything to you?’

She shook her head. ‘No – nothing.’

Xena glanced at Mr Kennedy.

He said, ‘No.’

We also found this. She passed Mrs Kennedy the evidence bag with the piece of paper inside.

The two looked at the note, but said nothing.

Xena took the evidence bag back and returned it to her pocket.

Was it a boy or a girl?’ Mrs Kennedy asked.

I don’t think . . .’

Tell me.’

A boy.’

Tears ran down her face.

Xena stroked the Wolfhound so that she didn’t have to look at the Kennedys – the Daschund was too low down.

As soon as we have anything definite, we’ll let you know,’ Stick said.

Xena stood up. ‘We’ll find our own way out.’

Outside, Stick said, ‘That was even worse than the last time.’

Yes . . .’ Her mobile vibrated. ‘Blake.’

It’s PC Brian Taylor-Lawson from dispatch, Ma’am.’

She hated being called “Ma’am”. It made her feel a hundred years old, and put her in more of a bad mood than she was already in. After what she’d been through she didn’t really want to feel any older than twenty-one.

Yes?’

A young woman called Lily Andrews has gone missing from Hunsdon.’

Attractive with blonde hair and blue eyes?’

Yes, Ma’am.’

Fuck! Address?’ She signalled to Stick to get his notebook out and write the address down.

Number 16 Tanners Way,’ she repeated for Stick’s benefit. ‘Postcode?’

SG12 8PQ,’ Taylor-Lawson said.

Who reported her missing?’

Her mother.’

When?’

About two hours ago.’

What the fuck have you been doing with it for two hours?’

I haven’t been doing anything with it, Ma’am. I was passed the information about five minutes ago and told to notify you.’

Good job as well.’ She ended the call. God, she was fucking knackered. Her whole body was racked with pain, and she was sweating like a knocked-kneed mule. All she wanted to do was go home and soak in a bath of goat’s milk. ‘What the fuck are you looking at?’

Nothing.’

Keep it that way. Well, what are we waiting for – a fucking invitation? Let’s get going.’

 

 

***

 

 

He was sitting on the loading bay facing the railway track smoking and worrying.

The police had mentioned his van on the news in connection with Clarice Kennedy’s murder.

Somebody was bound to remember that the van used to be white with blue lettering on the side. It had belonged to: Chuck Munster: Specialists in all Types of Flooring. He should have got rid of it instead of painting it dark blue, but he needed it to get to work. Now, he was sitting on a time bomb waiting for it to explode. The trouble was, if he got rid of it now it would probably look too suspicious.

The nightmares were getting worse too.

He’d delivered Lily Andrews to Jenson’s Slaughterhouse at River Meads, next to the railway track in Stanstead Abbotts yesterday evening, strung her up in one of the disused freezers and left her there in the dark.

She’d pleaded with him to let her go, not to hurt her, that she’d never tell another living soul what he’d done to her already, and – if he was being honest – he felt sorry for her, but she had such a whiney voice, so he’d stuffed a rag in her mouth to shut her up.

The others had arrived shortly after their shift in the slaughterhouse and found him dozing in his van. Joe had banged hard on the door to wake him up, and he’d nearly had a fucking heart attack.

Come on, Billy boy,’ Joe had said. ‘Anybody would think you weren’t getting your eight hours.’ Joe had laughed at his own joke, and the others had joined in.

No, he wasn’t getting his eight hours. In fact, he was in arrears by a good country mile.

The six of them had gone into the freezer.

Joe had taken his time.

The others were quicker.

He went fourth this time. Yeah, while he was shagging her it was the best feeling in the whole world. He didn’t like having an audience, but Lily Andrews was so beautiful that he barely noticed they were there until he shot everything he had into her and the others began cheering, clapping and dragging him off her so that Bob could have his turn. Then, even before he’d zipped himself up, the guilt began seeping into his brain like a virus.

Last night had been the worst night ever. He’d arrived home shortly before midnight and crawled into bed bone tired, but he couldn’t sleep. As soon as he closed his eyes he saw them – they were waiting for him as they were every night. Lily Andrews wasn’t there with them yet, but he knew she soon would be. Their decaying porcelain-white skin hung in strips from emaciated bodies, their blonde hair was lank and lifeless, their eyes were black holes that sucked in all the light and their maggot-infested mouths called his name silently.

You look like the ghost of Christmas past,’ his sister Charlene had said to him, when she came into the kitchen in her skimpy t-shirt and shorts this morning. She had the face of a boxer and the body of a whore. When he was younger and they lived in a different house, he used to watch her through a spy-hole in the attic and masturbate like a demented loser. He would imagine her undressing and touching herself just for him.

Having trouble sleeping at nights,’ he said. ‘I keep thinking of you sucking my cock.’

You’ve changed, Billy Kelly. I never liked you much as a brother anyway, but now you’re just a sad loser. And don’t think I won’t tell mum what you’ve just said to me. God knows why she doesn’t throw you out into the gutter like the filthy pervert you are.’

When he saw her with hardly any clothes on he had the urge to rape her. God, how awful was that? Did other guys have thoughts of raping their own sister? Or was it just him? Was there something seriously wrong with him? He had a hard-on just looking at her, so he supposed there must be.

A goods train stacked with containers rumbled by.

He sat back against the wall and closed his eyes. He thought it would get easier, but it hadn’t. He thought he would be able to live with what he’d done, but he couldn’t. He knew what he had to do to make it better. He knew what he had to do if he was ever going to sleep again at night.

She was as good as I expected, Billy boy,’ Joe said, nudging him and sitting down beside him. ‘Those tits . . . I spanked the monkey this morning thinking about those beautiful fucking tits.’

Yeah, she’s definitely beautiful.’

You sound like a fucking recruiter for a model agency.’

He laughed, but he didn’t think Joe was funny anymore.

Are you ready for shag number two?’

Am I?’

I might take the back route this time.’

Billy couldn’t see the point in having anal sex with a woman. In fact, the whole notion of anal sex made him feel sick. ‘Not me. I much prefer going in the front entrance like a normal person.’

Like a boring person, you mean. Anal sex is all the rage. Women like it up the arse.’

I’ll take your word for it, Joe. Listen, I need fags. I’m going to walk round to the shop. I’ll be back in about fifteen.’

Sure thing, Billy boy. I’ll try not to start without you, but the others might not hold that view, so you’d better put a spurt on.’

He wandered off nonchalantly, as if he really was going to the convenience store for cigarettes. When he reached the old red telephone box, he propped the door open with his foot, because the enclosed space reeked of urine, and called directory enquiries.

What number please?’

Malting’s Dog Kennels.’

Would you like us to put you through?’

Yes, please.’

It rang for an age. He was just about to give up when someone picked the phone up.

Yes?’ a woman’s voice said.

Mrs Kennedy?’

Who’s this?’

My name’s Billy Kelly. My sister . . .’ He felt a sharp pain in his back that took his breath away.

The line went dead.

Anyone I know, Billy boy?’ Joe whispered in his ear.

He felt his life ebbing away, and the last thing he saw before the darkness swallowed him whole were decomposing hands reaching out to drag him into hell.