by Tim Ellis
Darkness had replaced the dull light of day. It was four twenty and snowing heavily. Quigg looked over the railing at where they had been, and replied, ‘Down where, Walsh?’
Walsh shuffled up next to him and peered over the railing. There was only one flight of concrete steps that led to a jetty where a number of boats were moored.
Walsh turned and began walking back towards the car. ‘I never want to talk about that again, Sir.’
‘Talk about what, Walsh?’
Quigg phoned Barnes Police Station and arranged for a squad car to visit the address Mr Turnkey had given them.
***
After an eerily quiet journey back to the station, Quigg dropped Walsh off in the car park at ten past five.
‘I’ll see you in the squad room at nine o’clock tomorrow morning, Walsh. We’ll review the evidence and decide what we’re going to do.’
‘Okay, Sir.’
His phone rang. ‘Quigg.’
We’ve found another three bodies, Sir. It was the female forensic officer from the crime scene.
‘Where were they?’
Between the roots of a tree; they fooled the piezoelectric receiver the first time round.
‘Thanks for letting me know. You’ve informed Perkins and Dr Dewsbury?’
Yes, Sir.
He disconnected the call. Twenty-seven bodies and another child had been abducted. Up to now, Aryana had been right every time.
‘Bad news, Sir?’ Walsh asked.
He told her what had transpired.
‘We’ll catch him, Sir. The killer must be Ruben, and we know where he’s going to strike next.’
‘Thanks for the reassurance, Walsh. Go home, and I hope you get a phone call from the Welsh love machine.’
‘If I do, you’ll never know, Sir.’
He parked in his place and popped to the off licence, a couple of shops up from the station. On his way back, he peered through the front door to check Pernicious Bedweasle wasn’t in reception, and then dropped off a bottle of whisky for Ted Salway, who was on the front desk.
‘There’s no need for that, Sir. It was only a phone call.’
‘To show my gratitude for being there when I needed you, Ted.’
‘Thanks, anyway, Sir. Have you heard anything from Dartford police?’
‘Nothing yet. I’m not hopeful. Did you hear about Paul Pratchett?’
‘No. What about him?’
‘Drove his motorcycle into a wall. They think it was suicide, but they’re not going to conclude that, or his relatives will lose the insurance and pension payouts.’
Suicide! Shit. Was he the cause of that? If not the direct cause, he probably had a part to play in it. Gwen Taylor was more than likely the cause. Why did she have to tell Pratchett that the baby was Quigg’s? Next time he saw her, he’d have it out with her. She was a bitch.
Just then, Pernicious opened the door into the back of reception. Quigg squatted down behind the desk and duck-walked to the door. He heard Pernicious ask, ‘Was that DI Quigg I saw you talking with just now, constable?’
‘No, maam. I haven’t seen the Inspector at all today,’ Ted answered her.
‘Well, you know if you do, I’m to be informed?’
‘Yes, maam.’
Quigg squeezed out of the door and stood upright once he’d made it out of Pernicious’s line of sight. He smiled to himself. It had been a long time since he’d done that. In fact, he couldn’t ever remember having duck-walked anywhere before. His heart was pounding in his chest, and his knees were creaking and stiff as if they belonged to an octogenarian.
He walked, normally, back to the car park and climbed in his Mercedes. He didn’t turn the key in the ignition straight away, but pressed the ‘on’ button for the CD player and adjusted the volume to background as Sister Morphine, from his Sticky Fingers CD by the Stones, came on. Then he lay back in the leather seat and closed his eyes.
Was Ruben Andrews the killer? When they had visited Stone House Hospital, it had all appeared and sounded so plausible. Why go through that charade when he could have just stayed hidden? Maybe Ruben knew he would be the only suspect, and had tried to pre-empt suspicion falling on him until he had finished what he started. If the old man in the chair wasn’t Ruben, who was? It could only be Doctor Harry Harrelson. Was there such a person? Was that who was dying in the chair? Why had the old man pretended to be Ruben Andrews? Where was Ruben now? He wasn’t at Stone House, and the address at Barnes would be empty. Walsh was right: they did know where the killer was going to strike next, but not when. They would have to put an operation together with Peckham Police Station. He would ring them first thing and set something up. The killer wasn’t his only problem, though. Up to now, he had impregnated Duffy, Ruth, Cheryl and DI Gwen Taylor, and Madame Aryana was probably already carrying his child, but he’d have to make sure tomorrow. What was happening? Was he still in control of his life? Or was he a puppet, with unseen hands pulling his strings? Then, of course, there was Caitlin and Richie, the Builder. Hopefully, he would stop them taking Pheobe to Canada on Monday afternoon. If he did, though, he would still be paying a fortune in maintenance. Maybe Celia Tabbard could do something for him in that department, especially as he was going to have more babies and more financial responsibility. He wondered how he was going to pay her. Then there was his mum’s house and Randi Lovecock, the insurance assessor. He’d have to check with her on Monday afternoon to make sure she had got her big guns out, and the insurers were going to rebuild his mum’s house. Maybe… A thought began to germinate inside a small compartment of his brain, which involved Lucy, sex and computer hacking. He wondered how good a hacker she really was.
The ignition caught first time. He pulled out of the car park and started off in the direction of the May Fair Hotel. Along the way, he received three phone calls. The first was from a Sergeant Cahill of Dartford police. His men had searched Stone House Hospital and found no evidence of occupation. He admitted that his men didn’t go down into the underground tunnels, but there was no electricity and no heating on. Quigg thanked him for his time and effort. The second phone call was from Ruth, on his secret mobile.
Where are you, Quigg?
‘Going to question a witness.’ It was a white lie. He didn’t want to get into psychics, accusations, and so forth.
Are you coming here tonight?
‘Wasn’t I there last night?’
By accident. Bring Duffy.
‘Okay - probably between eight and nine.’
The connection went dead.
He parked in a side street near the May Fair at five to six. The hotel reception was busy and he walked straight through to the lift. On the fourth floor, he turned left and found room 416. He knocked and the door opened.
The room smelled like the perfume counter in Debenhams and he felt uneasy, as if he were walking into a trap. Aryana wore a long flowing kaftan-type dressing-gown thing with nothing underneath.
‘How did you and Perkins get on?’ he asked her.
‘He asked me out… on a date.’
‘And?’
‘I told him I couldn’t.’
‘Oh! Why not?’
‘I’m married, but he was not the person I saw in my vision.’
‘Excuse me?’
‘Do you want to know who it was in my vision?’
He had the feeling of impending disaster. ‘Not really.’
‘You, Quigg.’
‘I’m sorry?’
‘My husband and I can’t have children.’
‘How does that concern me?’ He had come up to her room to find out if she had any further information on the case, and yet here he was, talking about babies.
‘That is the other reason I came to England, Quigg - for you to give me a child.’
‘WHAT? Are you out of your mind? I’m spoken for.’ He kept saying he was spoken for, but nobody ever seemed to take any notice of him.
‘I will pay for your sperm.’
&nbs
p; He felt as though he were in a Monty Python sketch, and laughed. ‘It’s not for sale.’
‘No one will know, Quigg. Isn’t it every man’s dream to have sex with a beautiful woman and never get caught?’
‘I would know. And for your information, I do have sex with a beautiful woman every night.’
The kaftan-type dressing gown thing slid from her shoulders and pooled in a heap at her feet. ‘I have seen you making love to me, so you have no choice, Quigg.’ She closed the gap between them and he could feel her heat on his skin. He wanted to push her away, to protest, and to walk right out of the hotel into the dark cold night. Instead, he realised he was naked on the bed, thrusting into her. She was moaning beneath him, with her arms locked behind his neck and her knees guiding him into her like a precision instrument. He ejaculated and flopped down next to her.
‘Once is not enough, Quigg. You have to do it three times.’
‘THREE TIMES!?’ He was sure she was pulling his leg. In his experience, once had always been enough. But then, maybe his sperm were wearing out with overuse. Maybe they were getting smaller, weaker, and couldn’t make the arduous journey anymore. Maybe his children would be weaklings, pale and breathless.
‘Are you sure three times is really necessary?’ he asked her as she sat astride him and guided him into her.
‘Oh yes… And another three times before I return to Canada,’ she panted in his ear.
Now he knew she was having him on. He should have pushed her off, got dressed, and walked out of the hotel room wearing the expression of a man who had been taken advantage of. But he didn’t. A small part of him wanted it to be true. Also, the idea of having sex with the sole purpose of producing a baby made him want to perform like a god. Then, of course, there was no fear of CSA payments, which had the feel of a tiny revenge. And, in the end, wasn’t he being altruistic? If a couple from Canada needed his sperm, it was the least he could do in the spirit of international co-operation. So, if he had to give another three times tomorrow, then that’s just the way it had to be.
‘Last time.’ She made it sound as if she were offering him a spoonful of medicine.
He could manage one last time. His breathing came in short gasps. He was sweating; they both were. She had her back to him and her knees drawn up as he eased into her. Her breasts were firm but malleable, and she arched back to kiss him.
After he had showered and dressed, she said, ‘Thank you, Quigg. You don’t know what this means to my husband and I. We have been trying for five years, without success.’
‘It was my pleasure.’ He’d never been a sperm donor before, and felt good about himself. Ruth and Duffy would understand. Not that he was going to tell them, but if they accidentally found out, he could argue the case along the lines of benevolence, humanitarianism and philanthropy. They would understand, he was sure.
‘I enjoyed it as well,’ she said ‘Although that is not the purpose of our joining.’ She touched his arm. ‘Can you make time to come again before I go back to Canada on Monday afternoon?’
He smiled and brushed his fingers across her cheek. ‘Seeing as it’s a fertilisation emergency. It will have to be Sunday. Does your husband know what you’re doing?’
‘Oh, yes. He will be happy if I go back pregnant. You are so far away, that to him you don’t exist. He will be the child’s father on the birth certificate and you will never see or hear from us again.’
‘Oh!’ Quigg said, surprised. ‘So, if you do get pregnant, I will have a child on the other side of the world that I will never know.’
‘Yes, but I will send you pictures from time to time, if you promise me you will never try to contact me or the child.’
After thinking it through, he said, ‘I promise.’ He was doing this for Aryana and her husband, not for himself. That his seed would be sprouting roots in Canada, and he would get pictures of his child now and again, was enough for him.
‘Did they find the other three children?’ she said, bringing the conversation back to why he was really meant to be there.
‘Yes. They had been buried amongst the roots of a tree, which was why they weren’t found the first time. Have you had any more flashes? Did touching the children’s clothing help?’
‘The killer is the brother. Does that make sense?’
‘Yes, we already know that. The father sexually abused all his children, and we think that it led to an incestuous relationship between Rose and her twin brother, Ruben. Ruben killed all of his family in the fire to save them from his father, and he was meant to kill himself afterwards, but couldn’t go through with it.’
‘Tomorrow,’ Aryana said, ‘he will take the last child.’
‘What about the one he took on Thursday?’
‘She is still alive, but he plans to kill both of them tomorrow night.’
‘Where is he planning to bury them?’
‘I do not know, but I did not come all this way to witness him burying children. You must save them, Quigg.’
He touched her hand. ‘I will. If you "see" anything else, give me a ring. Otherwise, I’ll come when I can, but it will probably be late Sunday afternoon, so don’t go anywhere.’
As he stood, so did she. ‘I’ll be here,’ she said.
Should he kiss her? They’d just had sex three times, but they didn’t really have a kissing relationship. If he was being truthful, he hardly knew her. He turned at the door and smiled like a stupid person. She leaned in and kissed his cheek. ‘Goodnight, Quigg.’
‘Goodnight,’ he said as he stepped out and the door closed behind him.
***
He arrived home at seven fifty and went straight into the bathroom, discarded his clothes in the wash basket, and climbed into a roasting hot shower.
‘Have you been with another women again, Sir?’ Duffy shouted into him.
‘You know Ruth has asked us to go round?’
‘Yes, she rang me first.’
‘That’s why I’m having a shower, not because I’ve been with another woman, Duffy. I don’t know who you think I am, but you could come in here and check that everything is in working order.’
‘I’m ready to go, so I think I’ll take your word for it, Sir.’
‘Well, don’t say later that I didn’t give you the chance to inspect the equipment for any signs of infidelity, Duffy.’
‘I won’t, Sir.’
They arrived at Ruth’s flat at eight forty-five. There were two large men outside in the corridor, and Lucy was still inside.
‘Are we having an orgy? Quigg enquired.
Lucy’s eyes lit up.
‘No, we are not,’ Ruth said. ‘I am going to tell you what I have been doing today.’
Quigg’s eyebrows knitted together. ‘Oh?’
They all sat down around the dining table and Lucy manoeuvred herself next to Quigg.
‘You were right, Quigg,’ Ruth began. ‘We have to be more professional in our fight with the Apostles. I have been on the phone to Cuba most of today and arranged for my agent there to purchase St Thomas’ Church on Godolphin Road in Shepherd’s Bush.’
‘Being pregnant has made you religious?’ Quigg offered.
Lucy laughed, but Ruth ignored him. ‘The church closed in 1963 and was sold for development. It is a large building that has been converted into an enormous house. Also, it is surrounded by a six foot high wall, has a security gate, CCTV and alarms.’
‘I think I see where you’re going with this,’ Quigg said.
‘But that is not all.’
‘Oh?’
‘Inside the house, there is a secret underground tunnel which leads to a large chapel.’
They all stared at Ruth in confusion.
‘For Lucy and her computer equipment,’ Ruth finished.
‘Of course,’ Quigg said. ‘Is the chapel within the walls?’
‘Yes.’
‘I like the sound of this,’ Lucy said, digging Quigg in the ribs. ‘So when we get the urge, we can zip along
the tunnel and fuck each other stupid.’
‘No,’ Duffy said, her lips stretched thin. ‘That wasn’t our agreement, Lucy. Quigg will come to you, but it doesn’t work the other way. You can come along the tunnel for meetings, for company, or to eat with us, but we get the lion’s share of Quigg, and you get the scraps.’
‘Excuse me,’ Quigg said, affronted. ‘I am here, you know; stop sharing my body out like a pack of hyenas.’
‘I agree,’ Ruth carried on as if he wasn’t there. ‘It is important to know exactly where we stand. We do not want any confusion now which will lead to problems in the future.’
‘What about when you two are so fat and ugly that he only wants me?’ Lucy said.
‘You have the tact of a Tyrannosaurus Rex, Lucy,’ Quigg admonished her. ‘It will be a cold day in hell if I don’t want the mothers of my children. They will always be beautiful in my eyes.’
‘Yeah, right,’ Lucy countered, clearly unimpressed.
‘When we are fat and ugly, Duffy and I will discuss increased access for you, but remember that we are in control. If you go behind our backs, we will throw you out on the street, Lucy.’
‘Okay, sounds good to me,’ Lucy said, cupping Quigg’s testicles and squeezing. ‘So, when are we moving?’
He pushed her hand away, but said nothing. He had the feeling that Lucy was not going to be satisfied with what Ruth and Duffy were offering, and sooner or later there would be trouble.
‘We will move tomorrow,’ Ruth said to Lucy. ‘I have arranged for you to be taken from here to St Thomas’s Church in a rolled up carpet, just like Cleopatra when she went to visit Caesar. The subterfuge will be part of the removal. If anybody saw you come in here, they will never see you leave.’
Lucy smiled. ‘I like the idea of me being Queen Cleopatra and you being Caesar, Quigg. Didn’t Caesar have a wife and daughter back in Rome while he was screwing the Queen?’
‘What about Lucy’s computer equipment?’ Quigg asked, trying hard to ignore Lucy.
‘I am using my own people for everything now,’ Ruth said. ‘They will bring in all the equipment over the weekend and connect it all up under Lucy’s direction.’