The Graves at Angel Brook (Quigg Book 3)

by Tim Ellis

  ‘Use your imagination.’

  ‘So, I come in, shout at you a bit, and then we have sex?’

  ‘There’s bit more to it than that. We’re actors in a drama. We ad-lib, but you’ll get the hang of it. When we get to my house, you’ll have to wait ten minutes for me to prepare. Then, you’ll knock on the door with your silver-headed cane. The maid will answer the door…’

  ‘What, there’re going to be other people there?’

  She laughed again and her eyes sparkled. ‘I’m the maid, Quigg.’

  ‘Jesus… Don’t tell me - you’ve been a very naughty maid?’

  ‘Exceedingly naughty,’ she licked her lips, ‘and you’re going to make me do things that… Oh please, Sir… Please don’t make me do those things…’

  ‘Jesus,’ he said again, and shifted uncomfortably on his seat.

  ‘I expect you’ve got an erection just thinking about it,’ she said, touching his hand.

  ‘I expect you’re right, Celia Tabbard. I was wondering whether to leave my daughter to her fate in Canada, and we should, maybe, go back to your house now.’

  ‘You like the idea of role-playing then?’

  ‘I’ll certainly give it a go, but I’m not promising I’ll be able to last two hours.’

  ‘Don’t worry, Quigg. We’ll share a number of experiences in that time.’

  ‘Bloody hell,’ he said, grinning. ‘So, you want me to come to your house twice a month, at mutually convenient times, to role-play?’

  ‘Will that be a problem?’

  ‘I certainly don’t see it as a problem. Is it just the master/maid role, or are there others?'

  ‘We can play a number of roles, for example, doctor/patient, customer/waitress, master/slave.’

  ‘I can imagine the possibilities. I’m always the dominant partner, am I?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Good, I don’t think I could be a submissive.’

  Her mobile activated. ‘Yes… Thank you.’ She put the mobile back in her bag. ‘That was the check-in desk; they’ve arrived. Should we go and serve your ex-wife with the Prohibitive Steps Order?’

  ‘I suppose so.’

  They stood up. He took out his wallet, but she said, ‘No, I will pay; I can claim it back on expenses.’

  He didn’t object. Five days into the month and he was already a charity case.

  They found Caitlin, Richie the Builder and Phoebe in the queue at the Air Canada check-in desk. Quigg went up and took Phoebe in his arms. As Celia served them with the Prohibitive Steps Order, he wandered towards the newsagents with his daughter. It wasn’t long before Caitlin found him.

  ‘You bastard, Quigg. We’ve sold up everything; we have nowhere to go.’

  ‘Not in front of Phoebe.’

  ‘You’ll pay for this, Quigg.’ She snatched Phoebe from him. ‘Come on, darling. Daddy says you can’t go to see the reindeers anymore.’

  ‘That’s not fair, Caitlin.’

  ‘You should have thought of that before you went to see a solicitor, Quigg.’

  Then they were gone.

  ‘That was a bit messy,’ he said to Celia.

  ‘Not as messy as some I’ve seen.’

  ‘What now?’

  ‘Now, you’re going to follow me back to my house.’

  ‘No, I meant with my daughter?’

  ‘Oh. In about a month we’ll have to go to court to convince a judge to make the Prohibitive Steps Order permanent.’

  ‘Will we win?’

  ‘You’re not paying £300 an hour to lose, Quigg.’

  Win or lose, he wasn’t paying £300 an hour, full stop.

  ***

  ‘Now, this is more to my liking, Bartholomew,’ James said from the public gallery on the first floor of the Stock Exchange at Paternoster Square. ‘We can watch our money increase in value from here. Did you bring another picnic basket?’

  ‘Very droll, James.’

  ‘You’ve called me here for a reason then, Bartholomew?’

  ‘Phillip tells me that someone is looking into our affairs again.’

  ‘Uptown Girl?’

  ‘He doesn’t know. He tried to track the search back to its source, but it led nowhere.’

  ‘Should we move all our assets again? Is that what you’re telling me, Bartholomew?’

  ‘No. Calm down, James. Phillip knows what he’s doing.’

  ‘Are you sure, Bartholomew?’

  ‘Trust me, James.’

  ‘You keep saying that, Bartholomew.’

  ‘So, how does this Stock Exchange thing work, James?’

  ‘Don’t you know, Bartholomew?’

  ‘Well no. I thought you knew, James.’

  ‘No idea, old chap. I put all our financial dealings into the hands of experts. I’m a QC, for goodness sake, not a financial wizard.’

  They watched the people on the trading floor waving their hands, shouting, and generally buying and selling, until Bartholomew said, ‘Should we go, then, James?’

  ‘Most definitely, Bartholomew. I’m becoming stressed merely watching them.’

  As they walked past The Source by artists Greyworld in the main Atrium, James said, ‘What in blazes is that meant to be, Bartholomew?’

  ‘There’s a plaque here, James. It’s:

  A cube of 9×9×9 (729 in total) spherical balls which are suspended on cables that run the full 32 metres height of the main atrium - the spheres are controlled by a computer running Python scripts, which can move themselves independently of each other, forming dynamic shapes, characters and fluid-like motions that reflect the nature of the stock market itself. The sculpture opens the market each morning at 8am, with the spheres breaking free from their default cube arrangement to form elegant patterns and shapes.

  Throughout the day the sculpture responds to reputable news feed and displays snapshots of the current headlines, written in full height of the atrium. At the end of each day’s trading, the spheres return to their cubed arrangement, resting on the sculpture’s base, and blue lights inside each sphere are illuminated to show the stock market’s closing price, with an arrow to indicate how the market performed on that particular day.’

  ‘Amazing what they can do these days, Bartholomew. Have you found the hacker yet?’

  ‘No, we seem to have completely lost her, James.’

  ‘She’s free to attack us, then?’

  ‘Phillip won’t let her get into our system, James. Trust me.’

  ‘I wish you’d stop saying that, Bartholomew. It doesn’t inspire me with confidence.’

  ***

  Quigg didn’t have a cane with a silver handle, but if the two hours went well, he could certainly buy one for next time. He gave a sharp knock on 17, Ceylon Road in Kensington to leave the maid in no doubt that the master was home.

  It seemed like a good five minutes before the door opened. When it did, a shy quivering Celia was standing in front of him, her head bowed in submission. He was expecting her to be dressed in a skimpy French maid’s outfit, but she wore a long black dress from collar to ankle with a white petticoat peeping out from the bottom. Over the black dress hung a large white apron, tied in a bow at the back. Her hair had been knotted in a bun beneath a starched white hat. He thought he was more aroused with her dressed like this than if she’d worn next to nothing. She certainly looked the part. Now it was up to him.

  ‘How dare you keep the master waiting, Celia. Where have you been?’

  Celia said nothing, but stepped back so that he could enter. They were standing in a large hallway with a dark red patterned carpet, antique mahogany furniture, and a heavy gold-framed mirror.

  ‘Well? Answer me, Celia.’

  ‘I’m sorry, Sir. I was in the kitchen. I’m afraid I didn’t hear you knock.’

  ‘Balderdash, girl.’ He took his coat and scarf off and threw them at her. ‘My knock reverberates throughout the house. So, tell me, what kept you from answering the door? The truth this time.’

  The
maid hung his coat and scarf in a closet and followed him into the living room. ‘Oh, I can’t, Sir.’

  He was standing in front of the hearth. ‘You can’t what, Celia?’

  ‘Tell you what I was doing, Sir.’

  ‘I think you had better tell me now, unless you’d rather be out on the street with nowhere to go.’

  ‘Oh, please don’t throw me out on the street, Mister Quigg.’

  ‘Then tell me what kept you in the kitchen, instead of answering the door, Celia.’

  She threw herself onto her knees on the white sheepskin rug, and gripped his legs with her arms. ‘Oh, Sir, please don’t make me tell you.’

  ‘It is winter outside, Celia. If I throw you out, you won’t last long in the cold. There are horrible men out there. Men that would force you to do terrible things. Tell me what you were doing, or you can spend the night with them.’

  ‘I was touching myself, Sir.’

  ‘Oh, Celia, you’re such a bad girl. Show me where you were touching yourself.’

  ‘Please don’t make me do that, Sir. It’s my most intimate place.’

  ‘Show me. I need to see for myself what it is you’ve been doing.’

  Celia bent over the coffee table, and lifted her skirt and petticoat at the back. Underneath, she wore a pair of Victorian bloomers, open at the crotch.’

  ‘Show me what you were doing that prevented you from opening the door in a timely manner, Celia.’ His voice was heavy with anticipation.

  ‘I’ll do anything else, but don’t make me do that, Sir.’

  Quigg put his hand between her legs. ‘Is this what you were doing, you naughty girl?’

  ‘Oh, Sir, please don’t. You’re making me feel all hot and bothered.’

  ‘You’ll feel a lot worse than that by time I’ve finished with you, Celia. I brought you into my house as a favour to your dead parents, and this is how you repay me. Get on your knees in front of me, you naughty girl.’ He undid his belt and trousers…

  Afterwards, they lay in each other’s arms on the white leather sofa in the living room.

  ‘How did I do?’ he asked her.

  ‘You’re in the wrong profession, Quigg; you should have been an actor. There were times when I really thought I was a Victorian maid being abused by my master.’

  ‘So, I passed muster?’

  ‘If it was up to me, I’d have you knocking on my door every night.’

  He laughed. ‘Yes, twice a month seems a bit on the meagre side.’

  ‘I said twice a month so that I didn’t frighten you off.’

  ‘I don’t frighten easily. How about we increase it to four times a month, but two are floating?’

  ‘After tonight, I’m happier with that arrangement.’

  ‘Text me with a ‘T’ for ‘tonight’, when it’s convenient for you.’ He gave her the number of his secret mobile that only Ruth knew the number of. ‘But you have to promise me that if I text back no, you won’t think there’s any ulterior motive. If I’ve got something to say, I’ll say it. Okay?’

  ‘Okay, Quigg.’

  After getting dressed, he kissed Celia Tabbard goodnight, and left.

  ####

  The Skulls Beneath Eternity Wharf

  Tim Ellis

  Chapter One

  Thursday 24th May

  ‘You’ve got a postcard from Canada, ‘spector Quigg,’ Mandy, the post girl said turning the card this-a-way and that-a-way. ‘It must be one of those abstract arty picture things.’

  Quigg didn’t need to look at his watch to know that the time was five past ten. Mandy delivered the internal post at the same time every morning. ‘What does it say, Mandy?’

  She leaned her elbows on her post trolley and put her chin in her hands. ‘You know I don’t read other people’s mail, ‘spector.’

  ‘Yeah, right. I bet everyone in the office has seen it, read it, photocopied it, and generally had a good laugh over it.’

  Mandy was the sixteen year-old trainee administrative assistant with seven GCSEs, numerous piercings in her left ear, her nose, her bottom lip and her belly button. She also had green hair and chewed gum continuously.

  ‘Cheryl, the office manager, reckons it’s a scan of triplets, but I’m not so sure. Course she’d know ‘cause she’s had a scan. Oh, of course you know that, ‘spector, because it was you who made her preggers.’

  He took his mail off her. ‘Thank you, Mandy. Haven’t you got some other old-age pensioners to annoy?’

  She smiled. ‘Oh yeah, there are lots of OAPs in here, ‘spector, but I ‘specially like windin’ you up.’

  He had accompanied both Ruth and Duffy to the hospital for their twelve-week scans, and had become an emotional wreck as the technician pointed out each of the babies’ head, arms, and legs. He could hear the hearts beating, see the tiny fingers moving. It was then that he realised he was going to be a father again. Yes, he was already a father of four-year-old Phoebe by Caitlin, his first wife, but having babies with Ruth and Duffy was different. It would give him a chance to correct his mistakes, to be there for them.

  Now, here was a picture of a scan from Aryana in Canada, the psychic who had flown over to help him with the Angel Brook murders, and to get herself pregnant by him because she had seen it in a vision and her husband was unable to give her children. He smiled at how gullible he’d been when she told him they needed to do it three times a day for two days to make sure it worked. Well, it looked like it had been a success. Three babies! Bloody hell, he didn’t realise he had it in him.

  He turned the card over and read the message, Three bugs in a rug. Brad and I are overjoyed. Love A.

  A wave of sadness swept over him as he realised that these three babies would never know their biological father. He had promised Aryana that he would never contact her or the children, and in return she would send him pictures of them at regular intervals.

  His partner, Heather Walsh, put a mug of hot coffee he’d sent her to make, down on his desk. ‘Postcard, Sir?’

  ‘No, Walsh, it’s an alien spaceship. Perkins from forensics sent it to me. He says that if I press the stamp, the ship will expand to real size. Should I press the stamp, Walsh? We could go inside and take a walk around whilst we’re sat here twiddling our thumbs. What do you say, Walsh?’

  She ignored him and went to sit at her desk.

  ‘Quigg?’ It was the Chief shouting from his office. Chief Superintendent Walter Belmarsh was in his late fifties and close to retirement. Bellmarsh had been his superior officer and nemesis for the last ten years. He hadn’t even recommended Quigg for Detective Inspector, but the Chairman of the Panel, Commander April Williams from the Met, told him that due to the lack of quality candidates, he had been promoted anyway. He was, in the Chief’s flattering words, "The best turd in the cesspit".

  Quigg ambled through to the Chief’s office. ‘Yes, Chief?’

  ‘You’re getting a reputation, Quigg.’

  ‘I am, Sir?’

  ‘As a DI who can solve complex cases.’

  ‘Without the people in the team I’m nothing, Chief.’

  ‘I said as much to the Commissioner, but after meeting you and Duffy at the commendation ceremony he thinks the sun shines out of your arse.’

  ‘I’m flattered, Chief.’

  ‘Considering how everything you touch usually turns to shit, I’m not surprised that you’re flattered.’

  ‘Is that what you called me in to tell me, Sir?’

  ‘Don’t be an idiot, Quigg. I’ve got another case for you.’

  ‘You know I’ve already got two unsolved murders, Sir?’

  ‘Against my advice, the Chief Constable wants you on this case. If necessary, I can take those two other cases off you, but if I was forced to do that, Quigg, you’d earn my displeasure and I might have to consider your position within the team. I know DI Singh is still looking for a transfer from robbery, and…’

  ‘I understand, Chief. What’s the case?’

  �
�Two lovers found their way into the derelict warehouse at Eternity Wharf. They were about to show their affection for one another when the floorboards gave way, and they tumbled into an underground abattoir.’

  ‘An abattoir?’

  ‘Because of the human skulls, I use the term loosely, Quigg. You’ll see when you get there.’

  ‘I can’t say I’ve ever heard of Eternity Wharf, Chief.’

  ‘Strangely enough, it’s on the other side of the Thames opposite the London Wetland Centre and Barn Elms playing fields. It’s between the Blakes and Stevenage Wharves, within kicking distance of Craven Cottage where Fulham FC pretend to play football.’

  ‘Not a Fulham supporter then, Sir?’

  ‘Chelsea through and through. What about you, Quigg?’

  ‘I don’t, Sir.’

  ‘Oh yes, I forgot. One of the many reasons I don’t like you. Someone who doesn’t like football is a bit iffy in my book.’

  ‘So you want me to get over there?’

  ‘No, Quigg, I’d like you to sit around here on your arse all day contemplating your fucking navel. Of course I want you to get over there, you moron.’

  ‘Anything else I should know?’

  ‘Perkins, and that new pathologist – Inglehart, are already on their way.’

  ‘Okay, Sir.’ He had been shocked at Jim Dewsbury leaving. Jim had agreed to join a team of climbers – as the doctor – making an ascent on Everest. Quigg hadn’t even known Jim was interested in mountaineering. He’d handed in his notice a month ago, popped in to say goodbye to Quigg and the rest of the team, and off he went to live in an igloo, or some such. Now they had Katje Inglehart whom he had yet to meet.

  ‘Before you go Quigg, is Walsh still a lesbian? I get the feeling there’s something different about her.’

  ‘I’ve been working on her, Sir. I think she’s a bit confused at the moment.’

  ‘There’s no end to your talents is there, Quigg?’

  ‘I try, Sir.’

  ‘Are you still here?’

  He opened the door and left. Monica fluttered her eyes at him and smiled. He smiled back with his mouth. His eyes were somewhere else as he thought about the case that the Chief had just given him. What the hell was an abattoir doing under the floorboards of a derelict warehouse? What were human skulls doing in an abattoir? It must be a cold case this time. It took a long time for heads to become skulls.