The Graves at Angel Brook (Quigg Book 3)

by Tim Ellis

  ‘Did you find any?’

  ‘No, but the video evidence is becoming overwhelming. The government won’t be able to deny there are aliens amongst us for much longer. There were 167 star-like objects, 147 spheres, 130 circles and a kaleidoscope of other shapes.’

  ‘Fascinating.’ Quigg looked at Jim Dewsbury, who was kneeling down examining a partially decomposed body in the third grave from the left. He counted twenty-three bodies lying next to each other in shallow graves that had been dug only inches apart and followed the gentle curve of the sloping bank of the stream. ‘Are you into UFOs, Jim?’

  He looked up and smiled. ‘Hi, Inspector. Thanks for the letter of gratitude, by the way. No, I’m a bit more down to earth as you can see. We don’t get many aliens in the mortuary. Although…’

  Perkins became animated. ‘Yeah, there was the film of an alien autopsy by that guy Santilli. He said it was a reconstruction of one he’d actually seen.’

  ‘You mean that film by Ant & Dec?’ Walsh asked.

  Perkins and Dewsbury looked at Walsh as if she’d just walked out of the toxic sludge in the Thames.

  ‘My new partner, DC Heather Walsh.’

  Perkins kissed her gloved hand like a French grandee, and Dewsbury looked up and nodded at her.

  ‘No,’ Perkins said. ‘The Ant & Dec film was a spoof, but I think Santilli’s film was the real thing. I’ve got a copy on DVD, if anyone’s interested?’

  ‘I hate to break up this alien autopsy convention, but can we do what we came here to do, and then bugger off back to somewhere warm? You’re right, Perkins - it’s bloody freezing out here. What have we got, Jim?’

  ‘I think we’ve dug up all the bodies, but Perkins’ men are still checking. I’ve had a quick look at all of those we’ve recovered so far, and each one of them appears to be at a different stage of decomposition.’

  ‘I’m listening.’ If they were killed one after the other, he said to himself, the bodies would be at different stages, wouldn’t they?

  ‘I’ll know more once the bodies have defrosted and are lying in my mortuary, but I can give you a rough idea of how long the bodies have been here.’ He stood up and walked along the sheet of plastic laid on the ground at the foot of the graves to the older bodies. ‘There seems to be three stages to the burials. This first body has been here probably sixty years, buried in about 1950.’ He was referring to a discoloured skeleton with remnants of hair and clothing attached. ‘Then, the next five bodies appear to have been buried ten years apart - so 1960, 1970, 1980, 1990 and 2000. Let’s call that Stage 1, shall we?’

  ‘OK,’ Quigg said, nodding. He realised the staged decomposition was not as simple as he first thought.

  Jim smiled. ‘The second stage encompasses the next eight bodies; these were buried probably a year apart: 2001 to 2008. Stage three is more recent, as you can see.’ The next nine bodies – a mixture of boys and girls of different races – were, like all the others, about thirteen years of age and had their arms crossed over their chests. ‘These have all been buried this year; the most recent a few days ago.’ A black girl, with spiked plaited hair, wearing a rainbow-coloured top, a bubble mini-skirt, orange woolly tights and Nike trainers, lay with her arms crossed over her chest at the wrists as if she had been prepared for viewing in a chapel of rest. ‘Twenty-three bodies in all, Quigg. We’ll be able to be more specific about time of death once the forensic entomologists analyse the maggots and larvae to determine the post-mortem interval. If necessary, we’ll bring in a forensic anthropologist to recreate the faces of the children who have decomposed to skeletons.’

  ‘Are we looking at the same killer, or different ones?’

  ‘Sorry, Quigg - I’ve given you everything I have up to now, except…’

  Quigg leaned forward, eager to find out anything that would help him solve the case quickly. ‘Except what, Jim?’

  Dewsbury knelt down at the side of the last corpse, and cut the rainbow-coloured sweater from bottom to top up the middle with a pair of scissors ‘I thought I’d wait until you arrived to look at this. From the stains on her sweater I know there’s something underneath.’ He gently pulled the two pieces of material apart to reveal an alphanumeric symbol cut into the girl’s chest above the heart.

  E3:1

  Walsh turned and vomited through her fingers down the side of the tent.

  ‘Do you have to, Walsh?’ Quigg admonished her. He wasn’t feeling great himself, but she looked decidedly peaky. ‘You could have gone outside.’

  She took a paper handkerchief from her coat and wiped her hand and mouth. ‘Sorry, Sir. I wasn’t expecting that.’

  ‘Anybody got any ideas about what the hell it is?’ Quigg asked, looking around.

  They all stared at each other and shrugged.

  ‘It could relate to the Bible,’ Walsh offered.

  The three men turned to stare at her, expecting further information.

  ‘Well, it could be Ecclesiastes, Chapter 3, Verse 1, or something like that,’ she elaborated.

  ‘It could also be the Old or New Testament,’ Perkins said. ‘There are a number of chapters beginning with E besides Ecclesiastes. Exodus from the Old Testament and Ephesians from the New Testament spring to mind.’

  ‘You’re a brick, Perkins,’ Quigg said. ‘Good suggestion, Walsh.’

  ‘I hate to throw a spanner in the works, but it looks like a chemical symbol. I have no idea what it might be though.’

  ‘Well, Perkins, you’re the scientific expert. Is it a chemical symbol?’

  ‘No, there are no chemicals symbols beginning with E on its own.’

  ‘Thanks for that, anyway, Jim. Is there anything like this on any of the other bodies?’

  ‘I’m not even going to look, Quigg. Let’s get them back to the mortuary so that I can do a proper examination of each one.’

  ‘What about cause of death?’

  ‘Can’t see anything obvious.’

  ‘I don’t need to tell you there’s a rush on, Jim.’

  ‘There’s always a rush on, Quigg. But it’s the holiday period and I’m all you’ve got, so I’ll do what I can.’

  ‘Good enough for me, Jim, but can you do post-mortems on the first and the last bodies first?’

  ‘Will do, Quigg. I’ll meet you in the hospital cafeteria at twelve tomorrow, my turn to buy I believe?’

  ‘OK, Jim.’ He turned to Perkins. ‘What about you, Perkins? Anything for me?’

  ‘Forensics collects things, analyses them and then gives a considered opinion sometime later - probably tomorrow at about three o’clock.’

  ‘I’ve been meaning to talk to you about that antiquated system, Perkins. So, have you got anything for me?’

  ‘This place is called Angel Brook; I don’t know whether that’s relevant in light of the religious connection.’ He smiled. ‘I was glad to hear Debbie woke up.’

  ‘Yeah, and me.’ Debbie Poulson had been Jim’s predecessor. Quigg had asked her out and she ended up getting shot in the head on their first date.

  ‘But why did she leave?’

  ‘She’d reached a watershed in her life, needed time to mend and consider her options.’

  ‘Shame. Jim here is OK, but he hasn’t got Debbie’s curves.’

  Quigg and Walsh walked outside through the flaps in the tent, ripped off the suit and gloves and put them in the waste bin provided. Quigg thought the snow appeared heavier than before as he put his duffel coat and scarf back on. The time was ten past twelve, and now that he was away from the bodies Quigg felt hungry. He was surprised that he hadn’t been more affected by twenty-three dead bodies all in the same enclosed place, lined up next to each other and demonstrating a range of deadness. There were considerably more dead bodies and deadness than he had ever seen together at one time before, except on television. On television you could watch dead bodies all day long if you wanted; that’s why he very rarely watched television – it was too much like real life for his liking.

 
; A uniformed copper was guarding the entrance. He had on his dark blue great coat, but the snow was gradually turning his helmet and coat white. ‘Where are the kids who found the body?’ Quigg asked him.

  ‘Over there, Sir,’ the PC said, and pointed to the group - of mainly boys - who were standing just beyond the tape, hoping for a sight of the crime scene.

  Quigg said, ‘Thanks,’ and walked towards the group of children.

  ‘Which one of you found the body?’

  One of the boys, aged about ten, put his hand up as if he was in the classroom and Quigg was the teacher. He had on jeans and a heavy anorak with a hoodie underneath. Dirty blond hair sprouted from the hood. There was a smirk on his face, and he wore his attitude like armour. ‘Is there a reward, Mister?’

  Quigg smiled. ‘Yeah, if you tell me everything you know now, I won’t have to take you down to the station and torture you with hot irons.’

  The boy gave a nervous laugh. ‘You’re kiddin’, aren’t you, Mister?’

  ‘What’s your name, boy?’

  ‘Joey… Joey Hazel.’

  ‘Well, Joey Hazel, tell me what you know, and I’ll see what I can do about a reward.’

  ‘We were…’

  ‘Be specific. Who are "we"?’

  He pointed to similar aged boys in the crowd as he said their names. ‘Robbie, Baz, Skeet and Toady.’

  ‘Good - go on.’

  ‘We was on our sleds racin’ each other down the slope. I was doin a ton and winnin’…’ His statement generated heated debate from the other contestants.

  ‘Can we leave out who was winning and get on with the story,’ Quigg advised.

  ‘I must have been winnin’,’ Joey said, turning to the others, ‘cause my sled hit the dead arm that was stickin’ up first.’

  ‘So, you were hurtling down the slope when you hit the arm of a dead body that was sticking up from the ground?’

  ‘Yeah?’

  Quigg looked at how close the frozen stream was. ‘Another couple of feet and you would have ended up in the freezing water, Joey.’

  ‘Yeah, we was lucky. We don’t normally come this far down, but we was trying to see who could travel the quickest and the farthest, and I won.’

  Quigg held up his hand as the other boys were about to take issue with this unilateral decision. ‘Did you do anything with the arm or take anything from the body when you found it?’

  ‘No, thank you, Mister,’ Joey said, pulling a face. ‘Skeet called the bill on his mobile.’

  ‘Have any of you lads seen anyone near the stream at all?’

  They looked at each other, shrugged and shook their heads.

  ‘Well, thanks for your help, Joey.’

  ‘How many dead bodies you dug up, Mister?’

  Quigg ignored Joey’s question and looked at Walsh. ‘Give the boy a tenner, Walsh.’

  ‘Me, Sir?’

  ‘I’m skint - that’s why you’re buying lunch.’

  Giving Quigg a filthy look, she took her purse out of her bag, extracted a ten-pound note and gave it to Joey.

  ‘Thanks, Mister,’ Joey said.

  ‘You’re welcome, Joey. And if you think of anything else, ask for Detective Inspector Quigg.’ He gave Joey one of his cards.

  ‘Sure will, ‘Spector Quigg.’ The crowd of children ran off, dragging their sleds with them.

  ‘Don’t look at me like that, Walsh,’ Quigg said. ‘I’ll give you a tenner back when I get paid.’

  ***

  Bartholomew, Thomas and James had taken advantage of the holidays to visit the Churchill Museum and Cabinet War Rooms, which none of them had seen before. They had met at Westminster tube station and walked the short distance down Bridge Street, along Parliament Street, and onto King Charles Street to the museum.

  After reading a short history of the underground shelter at the entrance, they ventured into the Churchill Suite. They saw Mr Churchill’s bedroom, the kitchen, the dining room and Brendan Bracken’s room.

  ‘All a bit dingy-looking to me,’ James said.

  ‘Well, it is underground, James,’ Thomas reminded him.

  ‘Exactly,’ James said.

  They had moved on to the War Rooms, and were squeezed into the Map Room.

  ‘What were the findings of your internal investigation, James?’ Bartholomew broached the reason the three of them had met. ‘How did Quigg find out all our names and about the estate in Surrey?’

  ‘Hackers.’

  ‘Hackers?’ Bartholomew repeated.

  ‘We should have seen it coming, gentlemen. Quigg is a resourceful detective. He received help from a hacker called Surfer Bob, who, as you know, burrowed into the MOD database, which allowed us to track him down.’

  Bartholomew laughed. ‘Surfer Bob! It sounds like someone on children’s television.’

  ‘These hackers invent weird and wonderful nicknames to hide behind, such as Prophet, Seducer and Ecstasy.’

  ‘I suppose it’s much the same as us hiding behind the names of the twelve apostles,’ Thomas suggested.

  ‘Exactly,’ James agreed. ‘Anyway, once that journalist woman…’

  ‘…Ruth Lynch,’ Bartholomew reminded James.

  ‘…once she had given Quigg our collective name, it was only a matter of time before Surfer Bob was instructed to hunt us down.’

  ‘I didn’t realise our secrets were on the Internet?’ Thomas mumbled. ‘Nobody warned us that our secrets were in the public domain.’

  ‘Do you understand how the Internet actually works, Thomas?’ James asked him, with a slight edge to his voice.

  ‘I thought I did. Don’t misunderstand me, James - I’m not blaming you. It’s just that…’

  ‘Nearly every computer in the world is connected to the Internet, and if it’s connected, then it can be accessed by a third party.’

  Thomas’ eyes opened wide. ‘Surely not?’

  ‘My knowledge is rudimentary, but as I understand it, when your computer accesses the Internet it becomes part of a worldwide network, and the only thing separating you from other people are the passwords you use.’

  They had moved from the Map Room to the Cabinet Room. James was sitting in the large wooden seat at the far side of the room where Winston Churchill used to preside over his wartime coalition of ministers. Bartholomew was sitting next to James, thinking of himself as James’ Chief of Staff. There was a large coloured world map on one wall and an eight inch oak-cased iron dial clock manufactured by Stockhall, Marples & Co., which had been stopped at 6.30 a.m. Tuesday 6th June 1944 to commemorate Operation Neptune and Operation Overlord – D-Day.

  ‘That can’t be right,’ Thomas said.

  ‘Oh, there are other security measures which can be used, such as antivirus and spyware software, firewalls and so on. But from what I gather, it is like putting up a chocolate fireguard to stop a child burning itself.’

  Bartholomew sniggered. ‘A chocolate fireguard… Yes, very good, James.’

  ‘Unfortunately, not very good, Bartholomew. Although I have redesigned our business enterprise and changed our name, a determined person…’

  ‘Like Quigg?’

  ‘Like Quigg… could eventually find us.’

  ‘The explosion in Fulham…’

  ‘Surfer Bob won’t be surfing anymore.’ James smiled at his little joke. ‘There is also another hacker who acquired information for Quigg called Uptown Girl, and I have people tracking her down.’

  ‘What can we do to help, James?’ Bartholomew asked.

  ‘Thank you, Bartholomew, but everything is in hand. I have, however, found a potential new member of the Apostles who will take control of our Internet security. You will meet him at the Last Supper.’

  ‘We’ll look forward to that, won’t we, Thomas?’

  ‘Most definitely,’ Thomas agreed.

  Before terminating the visit, they took a quick look in the Transatlantic Telephone Room and pressed a few buttons on the computer-sized telephone scrambler coden
amed ‘Sigsaly’. Then they popped in to see Churchill’s bedroom, and Bartholomew stretched out on the single bed while no one was looking.

  Chapter Two

  The press – like a human shield – were standing between him and the car.

  Walsh said, ‘What are you going to tell them, Sir?’

  ‘We’ll use them, Walsh.’ He stopped on the duckboards while he spoke to her. ‘We’ve got no CCTV, as far as we know, no witnesses, and no surrounding houses to do a house-to-house. Over a period of sixty years, one or more people have come here twenty-three times and buried children in shallow graves. One reason they’ve got away with it for so long is that probably no one has ever seen them. We might be lucky and get some forensic evidence that will lead us directly to the killer or killers, but I doubt it. He hasn’t remained anonymous for this long by being sloppy.’

  ‘We’ve got the symbol, Sir.’

  ‘It might be useful, but until we know what it means, it’s not much help.’

  ‘There’re the children.’

  ‘Meaning?’

  ‘Well, there are the clothes they were wearing, and where they come from.’

  ‘All good stuff, Walsh, but it’ll be some time before we get information on either. In the meantime, the press can do the work for us.’

  He started off along the duckboards again. Walsh followed behind. Quigg called over his shoulder as he went, ‘We’ll arrange for you to appear on the local television and radio tomorrow, so come in looking beautiful.’

  ‘I look beautiful today, Sir.’

  ‘You know what I mean, Walsh. Let’s not quibble over how beautiful you are.’

  ‘Do you think I’m beautiful, Sir?’

  ‘I thought you were a lesbian, Walsh?’

  They had reached the swarm of press, and Walsh didn’t have time to respond. Quigg held up his hand to stop being bombarded by questions. ‘I have a statement.’ A hush descended on the twenty or more journalists. ‘Twenty-three graves have been discovered at Angel Brook. Each grave contains a child of approximately thirteen years of age.’