The Graves at Angel Brook (Quigg Book 3)

by Tim Ellis

  ‘The house was only valued at ‘£300,000.’

  ‘I know, but call it compensation.’

  ‘Yeah, after the way those bastards have treated my mum and me, we deserve some compensation. Get them to send it here.’

  ‘Done.’

  ‘There’s no way they can come in on Monday morning and cancel it is there?’

  ‘I’ve flagged it as urgent, but just in case I’ve copied the emails as insurance.’ She turned to look at him. ‘Get it, insurance? Ha!’

  ‘Very good, Lucy. Right, we’ll all come back here tomorrow to talk about how we’re going to bring the Apostles to justice. Have a good sleep.’

  ‘Yeah, see you.’

  Quigg traipsed along the tunnel and appeared in the church. Duffy was waiting for him and pressed the butterfly again to close the secret entrance. ‘We tossed a coin,’ she said, ‘and it’s my turn tonight.’

  ‘Your turn for what? Haven’t I given my all?’

  ‘Everything’s not always about sex, Quigg. Tonight we can just sleep together. I like to cuddle up next to you, to feel safe and warm.’

  ‘You’ll want sex in the morning, though, won’t you?’

  ‘Of course.’

  ***

  Sunday 4th January

  Bartholomew and James were in the Wellcome Museum on Euston Road.

  ‘Are you sure about this, Bartholomew? You know I have a weak stomach.’

  ‘You’ll be all right, James- trust me.’

  ‘That’s what you said about the Aquarium, and we were nearly eaten by sharks.’

  ‘A slight exaggeration, James.’

  ‘Yes, well.’

  They had stumbled into Henry Wellcome’s ‘Medicine Man’ exhibition and were walking along the exhibits.

  ‘What in heaven’s name is that, Bartholomew?’

  Bartholomew leaned towards the painting. ‘I do believe it is a woman giving birth, and that is the baby on its way out.’

  ‘It’s not long since I had my breakfast, Bartholomew. What possessed you to bring me here?’

  ‘There’re not many like that, James. Trust me, you’ll enjoy every moment of this exhibition.’

  ‘In my experience, Bartholomew, someone who keeps saying "trust me" should never be trusted.’

  Bartholomew smiled as they drew level with a set of photographs produced in 1903 by La Salpêtrière Hospital, which was the clinic for disorders of the nervous system. ‘These are interesting, James.’

  ‘Interesting only in a disgusting manner.’

  ‘Macrodactylism. My God, James, whoever hears words like that these days or, for that matter, sees these illnesses. Imagine, your brain enlarging your fingers as a response to a nervous condition.’

  ‘The sooner we get out of this human menagerie, the better. Tell me about Quigg.’

  ‘Ah, yes, of course. It seems that our Detective Inspector Quigg has moved to an old church in Shepherd’s Bush. It is surrounded by a twelve-foot high fence and boasts all the latest security features.’

  ‘How can he afford something like that?’

  ‘He can’t, but Miss Lynch-Guevara can.’

  ‘So he’s moved in with her?’

  ‘With them.’

  ‘Excuse me?’

  ‘He has set up a harem.’

  ‘You mean, he’s living with two of them?’

  ‘Exactly.’

  ‘Quigg never ceases to amaze me. The second woman being that big-breasted constable?’

  ‘Yes, but more interesting than that are their pregnancies.’

  ‘How do you find these things out, Bartholomew?’

  ‘I have my sources, James.’

  ‘He now has three weaknesses we can exploit: his daughter Phoebe and two women carrying his bastards.’

  ‘My thoughts exactly, James.’

  ‘What about the uptown hacker girl?’

  ‘I’m afraid we’ve lost all trace of her, and she’s actually a hacker with the online name of Uptown Girl.’

  ‘Whatever. Oh, God, Bartholomew - what is that?’

  ‘It’s a mummy bundle, apparently. The Chimu people from northeast Peru buried their dead sitting upright.’

  ‘But it still has all its skin, hair and teeth.’

  ‘Mummies usually do, James.’

  ‘Disgusting. Is it time to go yet?’

  ‘No, not yet, James. Look at these artificial glass eyes.’

  ‘I’d rather not, Bartholomew. Going back to Quigg - I see he’s solved another case involving children.’

  ‘We’re certainly lucky to have him on the force.’

  ‘Then why do you want to kill him?’

  ‘Our security takes precedence over everyone else’s security, James.’

  ‘I certainly agree with you, Bartholomew, but as I said at our last meeting, I can’t sanction killing Quigg and the two women unless we’re certain everything dies with them. Let me run something by you: I allow you to kill the three of them, and then the hacker girl releases a flood of information concerning our operations. No, if we’re going to kill Quigg, then it has to end there, not be the catalyst for our demise. You have to find the hacker, Bartholomew.’

  ‘They seem to have spirited her away, James.’

  ‘Oh, God, Bartholomew - you have to take me out of here. Is that a real operation?’

  ‘A video of open-heart surgery, James: the repair of a mitral valve at Papworth Hospital in 2007.’

  ‘There are some things a man should never be allowed to see, and inside one’s own body is one such thing.’

  ‘You never told me you were squeamish, James?’

  ‘It wasn’t relevant before, Bartholomew, but now you know, I expect not to be affronted by living or dead things at our meetings in future.’

  ‘Of course, James. Shall we go?’

  ‘I thought you’d never ask.’

  ***

  After sex with Duffy and a shower, Quigg met all three women in the central kitchen for breakfast at nine thirty. He was fully dressed, but they were in various states of undress, sitting on stools around the breakfast bar, and even though he saw flashes of breast and nipple, he tried to keep his mind focused on what he had to do today.

  ‘Have you had a look at that stuff Surfer Bob produced, Lucy?’

  ‘Yep.’

  ‘And?’

  ‘Useless.’

  ‘Because?’

  ‘The Apostles aren’t there anymore.’

  ‘Aren’t where?’

  ‘At the web addresses.’

  ‘Where are they, then?’

  ‘I’ve told you, I’m not an amateur, Quigg. I was up at five this morning writing a searchbot to find the buggers.’

  ‘And?’

  ‘It’s still running, but should be finished when I get back.’

  ‘What’s it looking for?’

  ‘All derivations of Apostles. Stupid buggers like to use anagrams of their name - just makes it easier to find them.’

  ‘What are we going to do when we find them, Quigg?’ Ruth asked.

  ‘I have an idea.’ He got up and made himself another mug of coffee. ‘Last time, Surfer Bob found evidence of a company with assets all over the world. They hid behind a logistics company called Palessot, which is an anagram of Apostles, as Lucy has said. What I’m suggesting is that we find everything they have, we locate all the people involved, and we bring it crashing down around their ears. We dispose of all their assets, we take all their money, and we destroy every last one of them. Money allows them to do what they do. Take their money away, and the children are safe.’

  ‘Won’t they notice something is wrong when we begin selling assets and taking their money?’ Duffy asked.

  ‘Not if we do it right. You and Lucy are the key to this. I’m sure that she can make it appear they still have everything, but in reality, we have it all.’

  ‘Me, Sir?’ Duffy said, her eyes opening wide.

  ‘Your degree is in Business and Economics, isn’t it? Time
to put it to good use, Duffy.’

  ‘But…’

  ‘No buts. Work with Lucy and find out how all their financial and business interests link together, and then we’ll rip it all apart.’

  ‘Can we keep their money, Quigg?’

  ‘No, Lucy. We’ll keep some of it to do our work, but the rest we’ll find a good home for. Right, I’ll leave you two to work. I have to sit down with Ruth and give her the details of my case, so that she can sing my praises and make a fortune through the syndication rights of the article.’

  ‘You’re going to have sex, aren’t you?’ Lucy said, accusingly.

  Just then Ruth ran out of the kitchen with her hand up to her mouth.

  Quigg grinned. ‘It doesn’t look as though sex is on the cards, Lucy.’

  ‘God, I’ll never get pregnant,’ Lucy said. ‘If I ever get pregnant, you have my permission to shoot me.’

  ***

  By lunchtime Ruth had finished picking his brain over the case, and he’d told her to emphasise throughout that it was a team effort. He particularly wanted her to mention all the players.

  ‘Right, I’ve got to finalise a few things at work,’ he said to her. Duffy and Lucy were in the chapel and he didn’t want to disturb them. ‘Let Duffy know I’ll be back about six.’

  Ruth ran to the toilet again. When she reappeared, she said, ‘See what you have done to me, Quigg? I was once a beautiful and healthy young woman. Now, I am old, ugly and sick.’

  Quigg laughed.

  ‘I am going back to bed. I feel ill.’

  He kissed her cheek. ‘I’ll see you later, beautiful, young, healthy mother of my child.’

  ‘Huh!’

  On his way to the station he pulled into the Crown and Sceptre on Melina Road in Shepherd’s Bush and had a ploughman’s with a pint of Guinness. It was good to spend some time alone with his thoughts.

  As soon as he sat at his desk he attacked the mountain of paperwork that had accumulated, through neglect, in his in-tray. After an hour and a half his in-tray was empty. He then switched on his computer to see how many emails he had. There were ninety-four emails. He skimmed the subject line of all ninety-four, ticking those he knew for sure he would never look at. Then he deleted all those he had ticked, which left him with twenty-three. He opened the emails one at a time and deleted them after he’d skimmed the contents, with the exception of seven, which were forms that he saved into various folders. He then wrote a letter of commendation for Walsh and one for Perkins and emailed them to the Chief.

  His administrative tasks done, he was just about to leave when he saw DI Gwen Taylor leaning against Walsh’s desk, watching him.

  ‘Hello, Quigg.’

  ‘He came to see me after you’d told him, you know. We had a fight, but he knew it wasn’t my fault. He knew you’d tricked me into getting you pregnant. Couldn’t understand why you wanted to have my child and not his. Why Gwen? Why did you do it?’

  ‘Not that it’s any of your business, Quigg, but he was going bald and you’re not.’

  ‘Is that it? You drive a man to suicide because he was going bald?’

  ‘Piss off, Quigg - you know nothing about me.’

  ‘I know what an evil bitch you are, Gwen.’

  ‘I’m going to have this baby, Quigg, and you’ll never see it.’

  ‘I don’t want to see it, Gwen. It’ll be drenched in Pratchett’s blood.’

  ‘Go fuck yourself, Quigg,’ she said, and headed towards the stairs.

  ‘Always the lady, Gwen,’ he shouted after her.

  ***

  It was two fifty when he arrived at the May Fair Hotel. He knocked softly.

  ‘Fertilisation police,’ he said with a smile when Aryana opened the door. The room had the reek of a brothel or, at least, what he imagined a brothel would smell like, having never been in one before.

  ‘Thank God you’re here, Inspector,’ she said, dragging him inside. ‘It’s an emergency.’ She tore at his clothes, throwing them anywhere as she pushed him back on the bed and straddled him.

  It was rushed and frenzied. Afterwards, he felt as though a zombie had sucked the life out of him.

  ‘God, I needed that, Quigg,’ she gasped as she threw herself panting onto the bed next to him. ‘I thought you were never going to get here.’

  He propped himself up on one elbow. ‘Hello. How are you today?’

  ‘Much better for seeing you,’ she replied, pushing herself up on the opposite elbow to face him. Sweat ran in rivulets over her heaving breasts. ‘I watched the news last night. Thanks for the mention. The police don’t normally say anything about psychics when they’ve had their help.’

  ‘Your help was invaluable. If you need me as a reference, I’ll be only too happy to recommend you.’

  ‘Recommend me for what, Quigg?’ she said, moving her body closer. ‘Are you not impressed with my sexual abilities as well?’

  He lay back and let her hands work their magic. ‘If you need a referee for that, as well, I’d be only too pleased to do the honours.’

  Afterwards, they were standing in the shower and soaped each other. The lather joined them as one, and Quigg found it difficult to find where he ended and she began. The sixth and very last time they would ever have sex was slow and unhurried. He wanted to make sure that the fertilisation had taken effect, and when he ejaculated, he thrust into her as far as he could possibly go to help the sperm on their way.

  ‘Do you feel pregnant?’ he asked her as he got dressed.

  ‘Men know nothing about having babies.’

  ‘That’s a no, then. But you’ll let me know when you know?’

  ‘When I have my first scan, I’ll send you a picture.’

  ‘Send it to Hammersmith Police Station; nobody at home knows I’m a donor.’

  ‘Of course.’

  ‘Well, this is the last time I’ll ever see you, then,’ he said, standing at the door.

  She was crying. ‘I’ve fallen in love with you, Quigg.’

  ‘Don’t be silly, Aryana. You’re a psychic; surely you can see that anything other than you going home would end in disaster.’

  ‘I know. I’ve seen how the future turns out, but it doesn’t stop my feelings.’

  He kissed her and held her to him. ‘Goodbye, Aryana. I hope I was able to give you what you wanted.’

  ‘Don’t worry, Quigg. When you get the picture of the scan you will be pleasantly surprised.’

  ‘I suppose you’ve seen the baby already?’

  ‘Wait and see.’

  She hugged him. ‘Go now, before I pack you in my suitcase and take you home with me.’

  He let himself out and closed the door. On the other side, he heard Aryana crying. It was for the best. They both had separate destinies to follow.

  Chapter Fourteen

  When he got back to St Thomas’s Church, which he realised, with a shock, was now his home, he found that Duffy and Lucy had decided to sleep together in the chapel. Even though it was Ruth’s turn, she said she was still feeling sick, that she wasn’t interested in sex, and that it was his fault that her life and her body had been ruined.

  Starving, he wandered into the kitchen. After rummaging in the freezer, he found a lasagne and some garlic bread, which he decided would meet his dietary needs. He placed the lasagne in a pre-heated oven on gas mark 6 for forty minutes, and while it was cooking he sat down on one of the stool-cum-chairs, leaned back and put his feet up on the worktop. Well, that was the case over. Two children saved, and a commendation for him, Walsh and Perkins. A damned good job, but he knew it was down to teamwork. Without all the other people that played their individual parts in the little drama, it would have turned out very differently.

  Walsh was a good partner, at least as good as Duffy. He had the best of both women now: a decent partner at work and one at home. Well, that wasn’t strictly true. At home he had two, nearly three, partners. God, he hoped he didn’t accumulate any more. As much as he liked what he had no
w, he knew he could get too much of a good thing. Was Cheryl, in administration, keeping the baby? If she was, what did she expect from him? He hoped she didn’t want to come and live with him. Aryana would go back to Moose Jaw in Canada tomorrow, and if she was pregnant he would have no involvement at all. Apart from a picture now and again, he would not know the child and the child would never know of him. For all intents and purposes, Aryana’s husband would be the child’s father. Even though he had promised never to contact Aryana or the child, he had mixed emotions about his promise. Oh, he wouldn’t go back on his promise, but it didn’t stop him wondering if he’d done the right thing.

  He popped half of the garlic bread into the oven for the last ten minutes.

  Then, of course, there were the Apostles. If he tried to fight them in the open, or through the courts, he would lose. They were too high up in the system, too powerful, and too connected. He was a lowly detective inspector with a boss who was only too ready to believe the worst about him. Attacking them through their money was the only way to bring them down. Sir Peter Langham was obviously watching him. Emma Potter had discovered that. He was probably trying to find Lucy, to kill her like he’d killed Surfer Bob. He had to make sure he kept her safe. In fact, he had to make sure everyone was kept safe. Emma Potter was a fly in the ointment. He’d have to find a role for her. With Ruth pregnant, an investigative journalist would be an advantage.

  He took the lasagne and garlic bread out of the oven, opened a can of lager, and started eating.

  Tomorrow he would have to see the Chief first thing and get clearance for time off to meet the lawyer at Heathrow. He wasn’t looking forward to the confrontation with Caitlin. No doubt Phoebe would become a casualty in the fallout. Was he doing the right thing in preventing Caitlin and Richie the Builder taking her to Canada?

  All the thinking was giving him a headache. He finished the lasagne and garlic bread, threw back the last of the lager, then went to the toilet and cleaned his teeth. Ruth was asleep and he slid in next to her warmth. He felt a stirring between his legs and wondered if Ruth would be amenable to a spot of copulation, but decided that a night of abstention would do them both good.