Текст книги "The Electrician's Code: An Evans and Blackwell Mystery"

Автор книги: Clarissa Draper

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Chapter Fifty-One

Theo moved his chair to the side as Sophia pulled up beside him and sat down at his desk. One by one they went through the files Earnest Tipring had written down in his notes. Had Earnest cracked the tile art or had he done research into these women’s deaths another way?

Sophia leaned against Theo’s arm to read the notes on the computer screen. He was afraid to move. He didn’t want her to feel he minded the touching, but he did mind. It had been so long since a woman had been this close for so long. Her perfume wafted over him. Why did she have to be so damn attractive? She sat back suddenly.

“All nine of these cases match poems written by Tipring,” said Sophia. “If he did murder them, how was he never caught? He couldn’t have been that good, could he? Do you think his uncle had provided him with protection?”

“I sure hope not,” replied Theo.

“What if Earnest helped? What if they murdered these women together? And now both are dead. Will we ever be able to find these girls? Eight of the nine girls have never been found, if they are indeed dead. Their poor families. They have no closure. How did Doc even meet these women?”

“And how are we even going to be able to find the others?”

“Well, we know he had a fetish for knees. Perhaps we can find cases relating to kneecaps?”

Theo did a computer search for any other deaths where there were missing kneecaps. Surely this had to be a special note in the file. Only one result appeared.

Seven years before Edie Grace’s death, a girl named Anna was found strangled and left in the forest. Her kneecaps had been cut out. Could that be Doc Tipring? Could he be Anna’s killer? Theo could only picture him as an old man. How could an old man do this to anyone? Had he created artwork for Anna? Theo rifled through the papers that Sophia had brought. A five page list of names and their relative poems were stapled together. He ran his finger down the list. Ah, here was an Anna—under artwork number one.

He did another search: strangulation, cut legs, legs missing, female, death in a fire. Strangulation was a common form of death for female victims, but the combinations didn’t match. The cases were either too old or too current. If only he could narrow it down further. If only he had names. Wait, he did have names to search for.

He tried a few more names: Abigail, Janine, Bernice. They all appeared in the missing person’s database but it could be a coincidence. Even if it were true that these girls had been murdered by Doc, what could he possibly do now? It’s not like he could question Doc and find out what happened to the girls.

It didn’t even help him to find out who killed Doc. Although it did give them a motive.

“So far,” said Theo, “according to our search, only Anna, the first poem, and Edith, the last poem, have been found dead. The rest are missing. The first and the last, you know what that means?”

“No. What?”

“He probably didn’t mean for them to be found. Anna was his first. She was found. Tipring probably worried that the body would be tied back to him so everybody after her was buried. That was until Edith. Something went wrong. He had to burn the body to destroy the evidence.”

“And that’s exactly what the poem states: Edie took his left. She took his left leg. He was missing his left leg, right?”

Theo sat forward. “He was. He told everyone that he fell at work and the wound in his leg became infected. Eventually it had to be amputated. But if he was trying to hide the reason, he wouldn’t give anyone the correct answer.”

The search kept them awake all night. Theo knew Sophia was aware of the approaching dawn from her repeated clock checking and glances out the window. She must have felt as tired as he. But if the search was as fascinating for her as it was for him, she couldn’t leave.

“Imagine if we solve this,” he said. “We could bring closure to so many families.”

“After so many years . . .”

She trailed off when she caught sight of Dorland entering the incident room.

“Well good morning,” said Dorland. “What have you two been up to? I’m not interrupting, am I?”

“Morning, Inspector Dorland,” replied Sophia cheerfully, perhaps too tired to notice the interrogation.

“Dorland.” Theo wasn’t sure how much he should disclose about the previous night’s work. He still had an important case to solve.

“Boss, I may not have had as busy a night as you but you won’t believe what I found when I re-watched some of the CCTV footage,” Dorland replied. He threw a photo down on Theo’s desk. “Look who I caught a glimpse of on the CCTV footage?”

Theo lifted the photo and squinted at it. His eyes were so tired.

“Who is it?” asked Theo. “She looks familiar. Who is she?”

“The nurse from our last case. We questioned her about the Tipring murder because she used to work for him. However, she had an alibi. Well, right at the time of the Yoder’s murder, look who’s entering the car park. The nurse we interviewed for the Tipring case—Ms. Dorie Armes. Can that be a coincidence?”

“The Tipring case?” asked Sophia.

“It’s funny you brought up Tipring,” Theo said. “We just spent the night looking into the Tipring case. He may not have been the innocent man we had suspected him to be. He may have murdered two if not more girls.”

“What?”

“The man hid coded messages about girls in his artwork. Sophia decoded them.”

“I knew those pieces of tile art couldn’t just be art,” said Dorland. “It was ridiculous. How did you know to look at them like they were code?”

“It’s a long story,” said Sophia. “But it’s not important. What’s important is what we found. Look here, these poems.”

Theo pulled out the poems from Doc’s file and watched as Dorland carefully read through them. Theo explained what they had found.

“These are incredibly strange. If it’s true what you say, it gives us a motive into his murder. Someone must have found out who he was. But how? Why would they not come forward? We could have questioned him, found out information about the missing women.”

“I don’t know, but I think we’re going to have to find a connection. We should see if anyone who worked with him—and we will start with Ms. Dorie Armes—could have been related to any missing woman’s case. It may be a perfect coincidence that the nurse was at our new crime scene but I want to make sure. Let’s pull up her statement. What was her alibi for the Tipring murder? She may have only worked for Mr. Tipring for three days, but it may have been enough to concoct a plan.”

“What about Sharon?” asked Dorland.

“There must have been a reason she died as well. That’s why we need to ask more questions, like why she was at the building at the time in question. Please bring me a copy of Dorie’s statement.”

Theo and Sophia spent the next hour searching for the tie between Dorie and Doc. No girls with the last name Armes appeared anywhere in the missing person’s database.

“Tipring may not have murdered a family member, but a friend,” said Theo. “In which case, finding a connection would be nearly impossible unless Dorie Armes disclosed one.”

When Dorland brought Dorie’s statement, the answer came. Dorie had a different last name than the rest of her family for she had been married for a short while. Her mother’s last name was Standford. When they did a search for that name, a Charlotta Standford appeared as missing from the London area. He pulled up the file and read it carefully. They were sisters. Maddock Tipring might have murdered her sister.

But how did she find out?

Theo had invited Sophia to join him on his interview of Dorie, but she refused. Sophia needed to go to work and so left soon afterward. She promised to check in with him later. He decided to go home and shower.

When he returned home, he saw the light on in his wife’s room and thought she must be awake. But when he knocked softly, no one answered. He opened her door and saw her laying on her bed, a textbook lay on her chest—English for Dummies. He went over to her and took her glasses from her face.

“Morning, dear,” he said to her, and switched the light off on the way to his bedroom. He was glad no one in his family knew about the cases he worked on. How many of Tipring’s neighbors knew they lived beside a murderer, perhaps a serial killer? He went to the front door to make sure it was locked before taking a shower and falling into bed.

A knock at the door woke him up.

“Who is it?” he asked.

The door slowly opened and Agneta poked her head around it. She didn’t look tired in her pink star pajamas and fuzzy bathrobe.

“Did I wake you up?” he asked her in Greek.

“No, not at all. You look tired.”

“I am a bit, but I have time for you. What is it?”

“I have been thinking of this for a long time. I feel like I’m just wasting more and more years of my life because nothing is coming back.” She tapped her head with her finger. “I don’t want to wait any more. I want to move on.”

“You want a divorce?”

“A divorce? No, nothing like that. I want to go back to school. I want to learn English, I want to get a job, a career. If my memory returns, that’s wonderful. However, if it doesn’t, at least I haven’t wasted more time.”

He nodded. What she said made perfect sense.

“What do you want of me?” he asked.

She rubbed her hands together in a nervous fashion. “It will take some money to go to school. And I totally understand if you say we have to wait. Maybe we don’t have the money right now. I can wait. I just wanted to ask . . .”

“I think it’s a wonderful idea,” he said finally. He did have some money saved up. It wasn’t for schooling, but what else did he have to spend it on? If she wanted to go to school, what right did he have to stop her?

He put his hand on her arm and rubbed up and down softly. She didn’t want a divorce, but she wanted to move on, live life again. He wanted to jump for joy, but the trepidation of what moving on implied made him hesitate. What if she wanted to move on without him?

He knew he didn’t have a choice. And she deserved it. Although she did not remember loving him, he still loved her and would do anything to make her happy.

Chapter Fifty-Two

The next morning, Theo and Dorland knocked at the home of Dorie Armes. Dorie opened the door and led them back into the sitting room without a word. She didn’t even ask why they were there. She just watched them quietly.

“We wanted to ask you a few questions about your movements on Saturday, three days ago.”

“You want to ask me about Saturday? Is this about Doc Tipring? Do you have news?”

“No, we’re looking into a completely different case.”

She didn’t reply at first but looked to her hands instead.

“Saturday, three days ago,” Theo repeated.

“Well, let’s see. Saturday. I took my mother and sister for breakfast and then we brought my mother to the shops—she likes to see the shops. At three? Oh yes, I had to drop an envelope off at my cousin’s flat. Why are you asking me these questions?”

“Where does your cousin live?”

She eyed them suspiciously. “Am I in trouble? Why is it so important to know this? What am I supposed to have done?”

“Please answer the question.”

She sat back, stunned, and crossed her arms. “I was dropping an envelope off at my cousin’s flat. You can ask her if you like. She did receive it.” She rose and went to the kitchen and returned with a Biro and small sticky note paper. “Here’s her address and phone number. She will tell you I was there.”

Theo nodded at her. The address matched Sharon Yoder’s block of flats. Dorie’s cousin lived in the same building as Sharon. Could it be a coincidence? This wasn’t turning out the way he expected and the next subject would only make things worse. “What is your cousin’s name?”

“Lynn. Lynn Standford. Why? I don’t like this line of questioning.”

“We need to ask these questions. Also, I would also like to ask you about your sister Charlotta.”

Dorie sucked in her breath. Theo didn’t think she meant it to be as audible as it was.

“Recently,” Theo continued, “I discovered your sister went missing. Can you tell me about this?”

“I—I don’t understand. Why are you doing this? Why have you brought this up?”

“Is it true that your sister went missing in 1985?”

“Yes. When I was fifteen.”

“What happened?”

“Don’t you have that information in her file? She was on her way home from work and never made it.”

“Did she live here?”

“Yes. It destroyed our family, you know. My mum was never the same since. All we’ve ever wanted to know was what happened to her. We never found out. Never.”

“I’m really sorry.”

“Are you going to look into her case? Are you going to find out what happened to her? Do you have leads?”

Theo shook his head. He did have a lead, but he couldn’t mention it without getting her hopes up or her guard up, and right now, it wasn’t worth it. He needed more information first. Theo knew what he had to do next. He needed to speak to Dorie’s cousin to confirm that Dorie did meet her at the flats, and he needed to talk to Sophia.

1

The last wasn’t difficult to accomplish. Sophia answered on the second ring.

“I’m sorry if I’m interrupting your busy day, but could I see you after work?”

“No worries, I needed to think about something else. Did you look into the case? What did you find? Did you talk to Dorie Armes? What did she say?”

Theo smiled as she spouted off all the questions at him. He couldn’t decide if she was nervous or impatient.

“Well, yes,” he replied, not sure which of the questions he answered. He explained what he had found out and his interview with Dorie.

“Perhaps the other pieces of Tipring’s art holds the key.”

In the meantime, Theo wanted to watch the footage more carefully. He found another instance of Dorie arriving at the flats, and she did have an envelope with her. When she arrived, her hair was up and she wore dark trousers under a dark rain coat. She held a handbag over her shoulder that could have contained a knife, but any woman, including his wife, had a handbag that could conceal a weapon or two. The only difference between Dorie when she arrived and when she left was that her hair had come down. But Theo often knew his wife’s hair came down by the end of a visit to a friend. It looked like her alibi would check out. What was wrong with him? Why couldn’t he solve what seemed like a simple murder?

Dorland entered his office and slumped down in a chair across from him.

“Have you found anything?” Theo asked.

“If our Dorie didn’t commit the murder, it’s going to be impossible to narrow down who did from the footage alone. I hope forensics can come up with something. Anything.”

“I’ve been re-watching the tapes and it does look like she came with the envelope like she claimed, but it doesn’t mean she didn’t commit the murder. She could have done that as well.”

“Why do you suspect her of committing the murder? We haven’t found any connection between her and the victim, Sharon Yoder. Coincidences do happen.”

“Yeah, I know,” said Theo. “But right now, it’s all we have. Besides, there are just too many coincidences in this case. Remember, we also have the coincidence of Sharon Yoder and Marjorie Peters dying on the same day.”

“Oh, that’s true. But perhaps we’re overlooking a suspect or two. Maybe Sharon’s parents killed their daughter. To rid the world of their demon child,” Dorland said sarcastically. “They don’t have an alibi. Praying at home doesn’t count. I doubt God’s going to vouch for them. Besides, we haven’t seen any dark clouds entering and exiting the building—only humans.”

The two laughed.

Theo leaned forward seriously and said, “It’s mind numbing that a previous suspect from a prior murder is at the crime scene and the actual suspect, the one who would have the greatest motive—Walter Peter’s wife—dies on the same day.”

“It is,” replied Dorland. “And Mrs. Chu did re-confirm Ms. Armes’ alibi. I’m sorry, sir.”

Theo’s mobile beeped and he retrieved an email from Sophia. Attached was a photo of one of Tipring’s artworks.

I found another of Maddock’s tiled art. This time it was in one of the meeting rooms here at MI5 . Apparently, Maddock sent it to his uncle. I decoded it and the poem reads:

Can you find them

I think not

Buried forever

There they rot

I believe he created this one before the others. Bloody hell, he’s been taunting us for years. How he must have laughed at us and our stupidity. No wonder Earnest started a file on his nephew. I never suspected this to be a code, and even though I seem to look for codes in everything and I know it wasn’t my fault, I feel guilty. Guilty. I hope we can find the missing bodies.

Theo messaged her back, What do you think we should do next?

She replied, I think we should visit Mandy Ford.

Who is Mandy Ford?

Not a who, a where. It’s a small town. It’s near where Maddock Tipring grew up.

What’s there?

More tiled art.

What? Why did he send one there?

Apparently charity?

Charity, my arse.

Chapter Fifty-Three

Sophia drove around the roundabout on High Street six times before she spotted the old brick town hall in Mandy Ford. It sat nestled between an office of solicitors and a gent’s hairdressing shop. By then, all three of them were feeling ill.

Parking was another matter. Although there was a designated car park of three small spaces, they were all occupied. Sophia let Theo and Dorland out and found a space for her car two streets over.

Theo and Dorland stood at reception. Dorland tapped the little silver bell. No one came forward from any of the rooms behind closed doors.

“Does anyone even work here? Perhaps it’s a show-yourself-around sort of place,” said Dorland.

“It’s not that sort of place,” said Theo.

A woman finally came out from a back room, turning her skirt around her hips as she walked. She pushed a bobby pin back into the loose bun atop her head.

“My name is Olivia. How can I help you?”

The men held up their warrant cards. She glanced at them briefly then walked behind the reception counter and hid the bell in a drawer of the desk.

“I’m not doing any tours today. Although, I can’t imagine that’s why you’re here. I expect it about the Mrs. Chambers scandal. I gave the other officers my statement and really, nothing has changed.”

A small bell above the door rang, and Sophia walked in.

“Well,” said Theo, “I can’t say much about that affair. We’re just looking for a certain piece of artwork.”

“A tile work,” Sophia said, and explained what it looked like.

“Tile? You don’t mean the fountain do you?”

“Well, we won’t be sure until you show us,” Theo replied.

“All right, come this way,” she said and motioned them toward the back. She led them through a door out to a small garden. A half fountain, empty save a few leaves, stood at one end with Doc Tipring’s contribution as an odd backdrop.

“Shit,” said Sophia.

“What’s wrong?” asked Theo.

“The bottom half of the message is covered by the blasted fountain.” She turned to the woman. “Why would someone cover the art?”

“What art?” the woman replied. “The garden was like this when I started here. I would never allow them to ruin a priceless piece of art.” She cocked her head toward the wall, like it was a hidden picture. “That awful tile concoction, is it worth something?”

“Some people find it fascinating,” Sophia said and took out a notepad. She started working on the code. When she was done, she handed Theo what she had.

Mary, Mary, quite contrary,

You held me captive

Promises, promises

I watched, I waited

Briefly, briefly

Signs of love

Taken aback

Down on your knees

Then taken from you

Buried, buried

Mary, Mary, quite contrary

Look how you made my garden grow

Iris stand guard

Your dream still

Like the water above

I hunt no more

Oh dear, no de . . .

“The rest of the tiles were hidden from view behind the fountain,” Sophia finally said and handed Theo the decoded message.

He read it carefully and handed it to his partner. “What does it mean?”

“I suppose it tells us what he’s done. I think the poem is pretty obvious. He’s killed and buried them somewhere. Do you think he’s disclosed the whereabouts farther down?”

Sophia shrugged. “There’s no way to know without breaking apart the fountain. I’m not sure it would be a good idea to do that. Not yet, anyway.” She pointed her head in the direction of Olivia.

“What do we do now?” Dorland asked.

“I think it’s time for a drink,” Sophia replied and walked back through town hall and down the street toward the pub, leaving Theo and his partner to say their polite good-byes.

The pub was busy.

Sophia took a booth and sat in the high-back wooden chair while Theo and Dorland grabbed a pint at the bar. She shifted back and forth in the uncomfortable chair.

Theo returned and plonked down the beer on the table. Some splashed up and over the edge.

“I will need to take those pieces of art from you. You understand why?”

“I understand, but I want it all back.”

“Why? What are you going to do with your art now? Now that you know it was made by a serial killer? Break it apart? Turn it into a shower room?”

Sophia laughed. “Are you mad? I can’t sell them now. As soon as collectors find out I own all the artwork of a serial killer, my collection may double or triple in value.”

“How sad that is,” replied Dorland.

“I just don’t understand it,” Theo said. “I was sure he would be more specific. Are you sure there are no other pieces of art?”

“Well, I can’t be sure but those are the only ones I could find listed on the Internet. Maybe he has a solicitor who could tell you more.”

“When we talked to the solicitor, he didn’t know of art anywhere but at Tipring’s residence. We will have to ask him again, I suppose. Doc was cocky but not as cocky as we thought. He didn’t disclose any information at all really. It could be surmised that he didn’t trust that police or his uncle at MI5 wouldn’t eventually find out what he’d done. So, he kept things a bit vague.”

“Based on what we know,” Sophia said, “Doc did up thirty-two pieces of art, and that means he’s probably killed that many people—most likely all women.”

“Thirty-two,” said Dorland. He shook his head and gulped down the last bit in his glass. “What a sick bastard. I can’t see how it’s true. How could he kill so many women and no one notice?”

Sophia wasn’t really listening. “Based on the poems, a lot of words have meanings like buried or watched. But he also used a few specific terms like iris or knees. I wonder what those mean?”

Theo and Dorland both put down their beers at the same time and looked at each other.

“Didn’t Tipring have a row of irises in his back garden?” Dorland asked his partner.

“You don’t think . . .” said Sophia.

“I couldn’t be . . .” started Theo.

“It wasn’t something we considered important. We need to get those flowers dug up and see what’s underneath. I don’t suppose the bodies are buried there, are they? I mean, he would have to dig pretty deep to add thirty-two bodies to that little space. And how could the neighbors not notice?”