The Vault Page 8

  Toby considered what her plan was going to be, or even if she had one, other than the desire to extract money or favours from him. Why else would she contact him now, after all this time? From where he stood, he could see in both directions for at least five hundred yards, which meant that they would have privacy for this meeting. He had imagined, naively as it now appeared, that she would have been content with the generous payment he’d made for the two unique and exquisite skulls he’d retrieved from the apartment and felt saddened that what had been a loving act, had been sullied by this greedy, intrusive woman.

  Toby had been completely smitten by the beautiful and exotic Giselle, to the point of offering her a fine home, security and his undying love. When she’d left him, he was distraught. He had tried absolutely everything in his powers to prevent her from having to go but sometimes, he mused, there were events beyond even his abilities to control. He missed her terribly and had recently taken to roaming her old haunts trying to rekindle those happy feelings. It was on one of these trips that he’d met someone who he felt sure was about to turn his life around and fill the void Giselle had left. When he had first taken a mistress, he’d spent many a long night battling with his conscience. He adored his wife but due to her constant ill health and delicate constitution, he seldom imposed his sexual needs on her. But that hadn’t prevented or dampened those desires. It was not in his nature to contemplate paying for sexual favours, that was a degrading act for both himself and the lady in question; rather he had sought a mistress that he could lavish gifts, love and security onto. It was this penchant for gift lavishing that had instigated the thefts of the skulls and the toy snake, a fact not lost on Parminder Kaur.

  Toby hadn’t really considered the effect on Parminder of his approach from under the bridge. She let out a shriek and clutched at her chest, as if she was having some sort of seizure. This level of theatricality irritated Toby beyond measure but he stood his ground, gritted his teeth and asked her calmly what she wanted.

  “I know what you’ve done,” she spat.

  Toby lowered his head; he felt a pulse of anger that cancelled out any perception of her as another human being. He saw her waving her arms around and pointing a finger at him in an ugly, accusatory manner. A wash of angry sound came out of her face and there was only one action that could restore peace. Instantly, the hideous sounds were reduced to grunts and pants. The piano wire, linked by two pieces of dowel, was remarkably efficient. He had been a little disappointed that she’d managed to trap two of her fingers behind the wire and this was prolonging what should have been a simple and efficient exercise. With several intended and then involuntary kicks, Parminder Kaur quietened and slumped to her knees. Using the garrotte much like a handle, Toby dragged the body to the edge of the bridge and lifted it over, letting it splash into the shallow water below. He suspected that it would only be a matter of hours before she began to emerge on the surface, so picking up a large rock from those strewn around the pathway, dropped it onto the body.

  Toby was about to enjoy the short walk back to his car, when he realised that Parminder had left her bike for him. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d ridden a bicycle and it was with some degree of trepidation that he lowered himself onto the frame and then pushed off. There were several moments of uncoordinated lurching and rebalancing but, noted Toby happily, once a skill is acquired it is seldom lost.

  Chapter Seven

  Eleanor sank back into the leather armchair and waited impatiently. She’d attended at least fifty per cent of the sessions so far and felt aggrieved that this bullshit was considered by the department to be both necessary and important enough to take her off a homicide. She sighed and waited for Doctor Lehmann to appear wearing her customary tight-fitting black trouser suit and patent court shoes that pinched her toes and swelled her ankles. A loud and frothy shirt always contradicted the ensemble, as if to remind the patient that despite her professional appearance there was a warm, humorous and unconventional woman waiting to burst out. Eleanor believed this to be a knowingly manufactured affectation.

  The door opened and an unfamiliar voice chirped, “Detective Inspector Eleanor Raven?” A tall, clean-shaven twenty-something, wearing linen trousers, a T-shirt and a noisy collection of bracelets, thrust his hand towards her. “I’m Doctor Seb Blackmore and I’m going to be conducting this session.

  Eleanor raised an eyebrow, to which he smiled and raised his index finger. “And that’s why!” He dragged a chair towards her and sat on the edge, leaning towards Eleanor. His eyes locked onto hers, his face beaming with bonhomie. “It’s because you refused to talk to Doctor Lehmann that I am replacing her as your counsellor.”

  “I didn’t speak to Doctor Lehmann because she didn’t ask me a single question in four sessions,” exclaimed Eleanor.

  Seb Blackmore nodded sympathetically. “It’s a well-documented technique that does work with a great many patients. People need to fill in the gaps and they do it despite themselves. Before they know it they’ve opened up and are well on the way to being mended.” He looked intently at Eleanor. “But you’re not one of those people, are you detective?”

  “You tell me, doctor,” she said, slowly.

  He smiled and put his hand on the lip of the seat, about to drag it even closer to Eleanor’s but catching her expression he leaned further back. He opened his mouth and then snapped it closed again, as if he’d changed his mind. Eleanor turned her face away and gazed out of the window.

  “You know why you’re here don’t you?” he said quietly.

  Eleanor turned to look at him. “Because all serving officers that suffer an attack by a member of the public, are obliged to receive some sort of psychological evaluation before they can be trusted by the authorities.”

  Seb nodded and held her gaze. “You are here Eleanor because a member of the public murdered you.”

  Eleanor felt a tightening sensation in her throat and a quickening of her heart rate. “Is that some sort of metaphorical statement?”

  Seb Blackmore leaned towards her. “Lee Hughes suffocated you and when he realised that he’d killed you prematurely, he injected you with adrenaline and restarted your heart.”

  “How do you know that? Hughes is dead and I haven’t suggested that to anyone!” Eleanor was suddenly aware that she was being too loud. She took a deep breath and concentrated on slowing down her heart rate.

  Seb pulled a large folder from the briefcase, unwrapped the elastic band and flipped open to a page bearing a small coloured tab. He looked at her. “These are the notes taken by the registrar who admitted you after the assault. It reads, ‘Fractures to sternum and ribs…’”

  “Hughes hit me several times,” Eleanor cut in. Her chest was beginning to ache and she was aware that her hand was pressed protectively against her left breast. She wilfully lowered it to her lap and focused on Seb Blackmore, as he dismissed this with a wave of his hand. His eyes barely moved across the page, as if the words had already been memorised. “ST-T changes indicate that at some point your heart stopped beating. An EKG showed areas of possible infarction and there was some evidence of central nerve damage, due to increased levels of CO2.” He dropped the report casually onto the floor, his voice hard and triumphant. “You were killed in that warehouse Detective Inspector Raven. Lee Hughes murdered you.”

  Eleanor felt a surge of anger that threatened to launch her out of the chair and into the personal space inhabited by Seb Blackmore. It took a gigantic effort of will to calm herself sufficiently to speak. She leaned closer to him, swallowing hard. “This new approach to my rehabilitation is going to have a similar effect to the last one. It’s going to fuck me off!”

  Seb Blackmore nodded sagely. “I don’t doubt it but you don’t require rehabilitation, detective.”

  “So what the fuck am here for then?” she hissed.

  “Because at some point you’re going to have a breakdown and we want to make sure that we know when it’s coming and how to treat i
t.”

  Eleanor smiled and relaxed. “And this is something you’re sure about?”

  Seb’s expression was one of absolute conviction. “It’s a definite,” he said, glancing curiously at her wrists.

  Eleanor stormed out of the therapy room, nearly knocking over a coffee table piled with magazines and a potted peace lily. Dimly aware that a female voice was calling her name, she barged through the reception swing door and headed for the exit, her face burning. It was only when she had jumped into the car and locked the door that she was able to collect her thoughts and calm herself. Her phone buzzed loudly and for a moment or two she allowed the urgent tones of normality to soothe her. She started the car and pulled out of the parking bay as Laurence’s voice threaded its way through the Bluetooth.

  “You free?” he asked quickly, ignoring her dry laugh. “Wadesky says they’re pulling an Asian female out of the lake at TTP. I’ve just got here.”

  Her irritation evaporated instantly. “Keep me posted I’m heading there now.”

  Tommy Thompson Park was bathed in rich, dusty sunlight as Laurence waited for an overdressed and sweaty patrol cop to raise the barrier for him. The spit had begun its creation in the fifties and was now brimming with bird and insect life. If you could ignore the huge, rubble-bearing trucks that thundered past and zone out the steady stream of wheeled and lycra-clad Torontans, you could almost imagine yourself in conservation paradise.

  “Follow the road straight for about a half mile and then you’ll see them on the left. You’ll be directed from there.” said the officer, swatting a persistent black fly away from his face. “Is your dog a serving officer?” he asked suspiciously, gazing at Monster seated in the back. “Because this is a conservation area and no dogs are allowed.”

  Laurence sighed, “Absolutely.”

  The officer stared at Monster unconvinced. “Uh-huh.”

  “He’ll be kept on a lead officer,” Laurence replied quickly, pulling away.

  Timms and Wadesky were deep in raised conversation with two men, who were variously squeezing themselves into wet suits and carrying out technical checks on their tanks. Wadesky waved a hand and nodded, as she saw Laurence approaching the bridge.

  “Look, the vic is submerged but only in three feet of water. Not even I’d drown in that!” bellowed Timms, wafting his coffee around in an agitated manner. The two diving officers looked non-plussed by Timms’ outrage and carried on with their preparations.

  “What the fuck! There’s a goddamn fish eating her now!” despaired Timms, “Look!”

  Laurence peered over the railings and looked at the face staring back at him through the water. Parminder Kaur’s long dark plait had become tangled in the wire mesh that was used to prevent non-native fish entering the protected wetlands from the lake and gave the bizarre effect of her head nodding from side to side in the water’s ebb, one hand tucked firmly under her chin.

  “Mo told us you were interviewing an Asian woman of about the same age in connection with your case. Kinda made sense that we ran it past you before we started the ID,” said Wadesky hurrying over. “That her?”

  Laurence noted she was wearing chef pants and T-shirt and nodded. “Pretty sure it’s her but wait till she’s out.”

  A sudden surge from somewhere further out in the lake twisted Parminder’s body into the bankside, revealing the twisted wooden handles of a garrotte, tightly tucked below her hairline.

  “Well, that’s just made it first degree,” noted Wadesky.

  “Is the ME here yet?” Laurence asked, nodding to the divers as they slid into the water.

  “Over by the vans. They arrived from the other side of the bridge.” As if on cue they could see Dr Hounslow, Susan Cheung and half a dozen white-clad crime scene officers making their way towards the bridge, all laden with boxes of equipment and a portable gurney.

  “Have you any witnesses?” he asked.

  Wadesky shook her head. “If there were, we haven’t found them yet..” Timms turned from the bridge and waved to Wadesky. “Hang on,” she said moving away. Laurence looked around him and wondered what was relevant to the murderer about this place. “I’m going to have a little walk around, that ok?” he shouted to her.

  Monster had been tied to the tow bar by his lead and was passing the time by barking enthusiastically at a muskrat, which was rummaging about on the shoreline. Laurence unhooked him and watched for a moment as the body was lifted out of the water. Leaving the path he walked along the lakeside, unsure of what he was looking for. Monster punctuated the trip by swallowing all the muskrat scat he could nose out. As he turned to climb up the bank, Monster pulled him back, reluctant to leave a couple of empty liquor bottles. The label on one was too perfect to have been exposed to the elements for long. Bending down, his face uncomfortably near Monster’s, he inhaled the whiskey vapours.

  It took him less than ten minutes to find the boat. It had been dragged onto drier ground and was partially concealed by low-level shrubs and thicket. A damp and mangy sleeping bag was pushed into a corner along with a few empty cans. Laurence concluded that the absent tenant survived on a mostly liquid diet.

  The track down to the lakeside would have been unapproachable by a vehicle but that was probably as well because ‘Muntjack’, as he was known to his ex-army buddies and the park officials, would have fled. According to Helga, who was responsible for that particular quadrant of the park, Muntjack was regularly turfed out in the summer but some leeway was granted when the colder months came and the nesting birds had all migrated. If he wasn’t lurking around the boat, he was generally to be found in a small derelict hut by the lakeside.

  The track began to widen onto a sloping, stony incline as it reached the shore. Suddenly, Monster began to bark hysterically and lunged towards the deep grass surrounding the path. Laurence, taken off guard, barely managed to cling onto the leash. The barks changed to a yelp, as a stone clipped Monster on the shoulder. “What the fuck!” yelled Laurence. A second stone flew out from the deep grass and bounced off the top of the dog’s head. Monster shook his head viciously in an attempt to free himself from collar and leash, his curled back lips left little doubt as to his next planned move.

  “Those are police officers, so put down the rock!” said Eleanor firmly to the figure crouching in the grass.

  “Fuck you!” screamed the figure and hurled the stone held tightly in his hand with alarming speed and accuracy, hitting Laurence on the cheek with a palpable crack. Eleanor grabbed the man’s hand, twisted it behind him, pushed her right knee into the small of his back, slammed him face down onto the ground and cuffed him. Muntjack kept up a steady stream of muffled monosyllabic abuse while Eleanor examined Laurence and Monster’s injuries. “You ok?” she asked Laurence, who was searching for a handkerchief.

  “Guess so,” he replied, embarrassed. “Didn’t hear you and didn’t see him!”

  “There were signs,” she said quietly. “Just got to get tuned into them a little more.”

  Hoisting Muntjack into a sitting position, Eleanor spoke calmly into his ear. “We’re here to talk to you about what happened last night and if you want to wake up to the sunrise, rather than a cell wall, you’d better co-operate and fast. Guessing compulsory rehab and psych evaluation doesn’t hold much appeal to an outdoors man like yourself, does it?”

  There were several moments as Muntjack processed the information. His greasy, heavily furrowed skin was now coated in a thick layer of dust. He squinted at them, curling his lip to reveal a few blackened stumps that stood in for teeth. He spat a heavy bolus of phlegm in the direction of Monster, who snarled menacingly. “I hate po-lice,” he spluttered wetly. “Fuckin’ hate ’em!”

  “That’s as maybe. But we need to know what you heard and saw last night.”

  “Nuffin!” Munjack growled, preparing another bolus.

  “Ok, that’s enough,” said Eleanor grabbing him by his collar and arm yanking him to his feet. “We’ll talk when you’ve had a chance t
o benefit from a couple of nights without a bottle.”

  A steady shriek began to emanate from the hunched grey figure, accompanied by the acrid smell of urine and sweat. “I don’t know nuffin about that!”

  “About what?” said Eleanor, leaning closer to the frightened man. “You definitely heard them but did you see them?”

  Muntjack sucked his lips in, collapsing his face. He struggled with a thought and then shook his head. “You let me go if I tell you?” he whispered to her.

  “Let’s see how truthful you are,” she replied.

  “I heard ’em arguing. I couldn’t see ’em ’cos I was in the boat. They were really pissy with each other. Then it went quiet and I heard a splash and then they must have went.”

  “Uh-huh. You’re lying. Let’s go,” she said flatly, shoving him in the direction of the path.

  “I ain’t… I ain’t lying!!” he screamed, staggering alongside her. Laurence and Monster followed behind. “I told you the truth!”

  At that, Eleanor span him round and shook him. “You told me what you heard, not what you saw and you saw something and that makes you an accessory to the fact. You’re looking at three to six for that.” She span him back round and continued walking.

  “I didn’t see ’em. I didn’t!” he shrieked.

  Eleanor carried on pulling him along the track. “See those cars Muntjack,” She nodded to the first flash of sunlight bouncing off a prowler’s windscreen.

  “I’ll tell ya!” he sobbed. “He got there first.”

  Eleanor stopped walking and turned to face him. “No lies now.”

  “What did he look like?”

  “Too dark then and I can’t see well. I only knew she was a girl ‘cos of ’er long hair and the smell,” he mused. “He walked up ’cos there weren’t no car sounds.” Muntjack began to suck his lips noisily, his attention beginning to waver.