The Terror at Grisly Park (Quigg 5)

by Ellis, Tim

  ‘They have a mechanical contraption called a telephone now, Perkins.’

  ‘Or we could fly over there,’ Kline said, clapping her hands together. ‘Maybe we could stop off in Disneyland while we’re . . .’

  ‘If anyone’s going to Disneyland Kline, it’s me. I deserve . . .’

  ‘So, I’m only your partner for the grubby stuff. If you’re going to Disneyland then . . .’

  He held up his hand to shut her up. ‘No one is going to Disneyland. There are austerity measures in place, swingeing budget cuts across the board, and horrific belt-tightening edicts being ordered from on high. Find out who and where the owners are. If they’re in America I might be able to squeeze a telephone call out of the Chief, but I’m not hopeful. We definitely won’t be flying to America anytime soon.’

  Kline’s shoulders slumped. ‘I was looking forward to seeing Mickey and Minnie Mouse as well.’

  He continued. ‘I want a complete list of park staff, and the roster of who was on duty last night . . .’ He glanced at Perkins. ‘I presume all this butchery occurred last night?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘I want a complete guest list. Not just for last night, but for a week either side. I also want to know if there were any other people in the park last night after the gates had been locked. I presume there are security staff, we need to talk to them. If there’s CCTV, we obviously need copies of the tapes from last night.’

  It occurred to him that the mobile incident room was too small to conduct a long series of interviews. ‘We need a reasonably large room to interview people in. Ask Frye to provide us with somewhere in the hotel. Also, Constable Coveney and her incident room are no good sited in the car park if it’s going to take us twenty minutes to get there and back . . .’

  Perkins nodded. ‘I said as much to her, but she wasn’t having any of it. Made me put my forensic trucks there as well. She’s very persuasive.’

  ‘She threatened to emasculate you, didn’t she?’ Kline said.

  His hand covered his groin. ‘In a word – yes.’

  Quigg continued as if Perkins hadn’t interrupted. ‘Tell Coveney that I’d like the trucks brought in close to the hotel, and make sure Frye knows what we’re doing. I don’t want him complaining that we’re not keeping him informed.’

  Kline nodded. ‘Coveney’s not going to be happy.’

  ‘Explain to her that I’m the detective inspector and she’s the constable. I say move them, she asks where to.’

  ‘Understood.’

  ‘Good. ’ He addressed Perkins. ‘So, let’s get back to this Cora Jiggins. You’ve contacted her next of kin?’

  ‘No, I don’t do that, you do.’

  ‘That’s what I thought. Where did you get your information from then?’

  ‘Ah sorry, I should have said. Hotel guests have to sign a disclaimer. If they die of a heart attack, or have a stroke, or something else along those lines, they can’t sue the theme park. They have to acknowledge that this is scary stuff, which could frighten people to death.’

  ‘People of a nervous disposition needn’t apply?’

  ‘Exactly.’

  ‘So, you obtained the information about her from the hotel records?’

  ‘Yes.’

  He turned back to Kline. ‘Get copies of the hotel register, the disclaimer forms, and any other relevant documentation. Also, contact the nearest police station to Jiggins’ next of kin, and ask them to go round and break the news. Ah . . . !’ He looked around the room again. With the exception of the blood and gore, it was a normal hotel room as far as he could tell. There was a three-quarter sized bed, bedside cabinet, easy chair, coffee table, wardrobe and mirror, a bathroom . . . ‘I don’t suppose you can cobble together a body for the purposes of identification by the next of kin?’

  ‘It’s all just mush. I’m going to stick my neck out here, Sir . . .’

  ‘That’s not like you, Perkins.’

  ‘Maybe this place is having an effect on me. Call me an impetuous fool, but I’m beginning to think that the victims weren’t killed in this room.’

  ‘Oh?’

  ‘There’s no whole bones, no torsos, no limbs, no heads . . . In fact, as I said, it’s just mush. How did the killer, or killers . . . ?’

  ‘You think there’s more than one killer?’

  ‘There you go again. Did you hear me say anything about there being more than one killer?’

  ‘I distinctly heard . . .’

  ‘You heard me not ruling out the possibility that there could be multiple killers. I say that because there are eight victims here. How did one killer constrain eight people? And how were those eight people transformed into mush?’

  ‘You’re meant to tell me that.’

  ‘Easier said than done. All this pulp looks as though it’s the product of the bodies being pushed through an industrial meat grinder. Do you see one of those in this room, Inspector?’

  Kline looked around, and then shook her head.

  He was tempted to look, but he forced himself not to. He knew there was no industrial meat grinder in the room, he didn’t need to look to have it confirmed.

  ‘I see what you’re saying. There’s no way the bodies could be reduced to this slush without mechanical help.’

  ‘My point exactly.’

  ‘So, all we’ve got to go off is a few hotel documents, and your DNA analysis? What about personal effects?’

  ‘None.’

  ‘I’m sorry?’

  ‘You’re right, there should be some, but there’s nothing here.’

  ‘Okay, let’s rewind a bit. Did Miss Jiggins arrive yesterday? If not, when did she get here? When she did arrive? Was she brought to this room? Did she arrive with luggage? Was she staying for one night only in this room, and then going home, or had she booked for longer? Kline, you’d better get started. If there’s anything else I need you to do, I’ll let you know.’

  ‘I could stick a broom up my arse, and sweep the park while I’m at it, if you want?’

  ‘If you think it’ll help us solve the case, I have no objections to you taking a second job.’

  ‘You’re all heart, Sir,’ she threw over her shoulder as she left the room.

  He turned back to Perkins. ‘You say there are eight bodies here because of the DNA, plus something else you haven’t yet identified?’

  ‘That’s correct.’

  ‘Have you got enough material here for eight bodies?’

  Perkins shrugged. ‘If the slush was brought here and just spread . . .’

  ‘How?’

  ‘How what?’

  ‘How were the bodies brought here?’

  ‘Black plastic sacks.’

  ‘How many?’

  ‘Possibly four or five.’

  ‘Wouldn’t that suggest four or five bodies?’

  ‘Sixty-five percent of the human body is made up of water. If you lose most of the liquid, that would account for four or five sacks.’

  ‘So, we’ve got one or more persons dragging heavy black sacks through the hotel in the middle of the night . . .’ He took out his own notebook, and wrote as he spoke. ‘Is there CCTV in the hotel? Where were the night staff? Where was security? Get blueprints for the hotel . . . and the theme park.’ He looked up. ‘Have you checked that there’s no other entrance into this room?’

  ‘I was wondering about a brush as well.’

  Quigg’s eyes narrowed. ‘Kline’s a drama queen. I expected better of you, Perkins.’

  ‘I always fancied getting involved in amateur dramatics.’

  ‘No need to now. You’ll probably get an Oscar for your performance here.’

  ‘I’m sure that once we’ve finished doing what we do best we’ll bang a few walls, and see if there are any secret panels.’

  ‘There, that wasn’t too difficult was it?’

  ‘Anything else, Inspector? Or should I stand here answering your questions all day?’

  ‘I think that will do for now.’<
br />
  He wandered out of the room, and stripped off the protective suit. It was three-fifteen. There were two uniformed officers from South Acton police station on guard outside. He nodded at them.

  Guests were wandering past on the opposite side of the corridor rubbernecking. He’d expected the guests to look like freaks, with capes, false fangs, or a Frankenstein’s monster mask, but was surprised at their normal appearance.

  What was going on here? Eight dead people, which included at least one woman. What were women doing getting involved with this rubbish? Didn’t they have better things to do with their time? Men you’d expect it from, but most women had more sense than most men. What was the other biological material? Someone must be having a practical joke – probably mixed in some home-brewed wine with the blood. And where were they killed? It must be somewhere in the park, but where? This was a big place, and there was no way he and Kline could cover the area involved – especially if it extended outwards, upwards, and downwards. He had to speak to the Chief, ask for one – maybe two – armed support teams.

  ‘Why armed, Quigg?’ he imagined the Chief asking.

  ‘Well, there’s a deranged psychopathic killer somewhere here who’s putting human bodies through a meat grinder – wouldn’t you want a gun, Chief?’

  They should have brought an overnight bag each. It didn’t look as though they were going to get home tonight. He and Kline needed somewhere to sleep. He didn’t particularly relish sleeping in a hotel that was once an asylum for the criminally insane, but it would be an interesting story to frighten his grandchildren with when he was in his dotage. Also, he’d need at least a couple of hours shut-eye if he was going to be able to function adequately tomorrow.

  Where did the other seven victims come from? If they’re not guests, who the hell are they? How many visitors did they get here on a daily basis? Did mums bring their children here to be frightened witless?

  ‘Be a good boy, or the monster will come and get you.’

  ‘Which monster, mummy?’

  ‘All of them.’

  He smiled at the idea. Surely not. The country would be riddled with psychologically damaged kids. Or, maybe it was. Maybe this was the explanation the authorities had been searching for.

  Waterbury Asylum for the Criminally Insane. He knew nothing about it. He’d have to get Coveney to search out what she could find on the place.

  Now it was a hotel.

  How insane was that?

  Chapter Three

  When he reached the reception, it was as if he’d walked into a firestorm. Daniel Frye, Constable Coveney, and Kline all began talking at once.

  ‘SHUT UP,’ he shouted.

  They all fell quiet.

  ‘Coveney, what’s your problem?’

  ‘As you know, I’ve set up . . .’

  ‘Have you moved the incident room and the forensic trucks in here yet?’

  ‘That’s what I wanted . . .’

  ‘I tried . . .’ Kline attempted to intervene.

  He held up his hand.

  ‘Did DC Kline tell you to move everything . . . ?’

  ‘Yes, but . . .’

  ‘Look Coveney, Kline’s my right-hand man. If she tells you to do something, you can guarantee it came from me – okay?’

  ‘Yes, Sir.’

  ‘So, are there any other obstacles to you moving everything down here?’

  She shuffled her feet. ‘I don’t think so.’

  ‘Good. Let’s try and do it as soon as possible. I could definitely do with a drink and a Hobnob round about now.’

  ‘Okay, Sir.’

  ‘Now, Mr Frye. Have you got another complaint?’

  ‘Damn right I have.’

  ‘Well, I suggest you keep it to yourself. Have you done everything DC Kline has asked you to do?’

  ‘No, I was . . .’

  ‘Have you got an assistant manager, Mr Frye?’

  ‘Yes, but . . .’

  ‘Who might that be?’

  ‘Caroline Griffies.’

  ‘Here’s how it’s going to work, Mr Frye. I’m going to lock you in a room, because you’re no good to me. From now on, I’ll deal with your assistant, who I’m sure will be a lot more co-operative than you’ve been. Kline, find a cold dusty storeroom for Mr Frye.’

  ‘You betcha.’

  She approached the receptionist, who was already jangling a set of keys in front of her.

  ‘Down the hall,’ the receptionist said pointing to the right. ‘It has “Cleaner’s Cupboard” written on it.’

  ‘That’s preposterous, Inspector.’

  ‘Is it? Eight people have been murdered inside a room in a hotel of which you’re the manager. I’ve come all the way from Hammersmith with the intention of bringing the perpetrator to justice, but all you can do is throw obstacles in my way. And it’s not as if I didn’t warn you earlier. I think a night in a cold, dark storeroom will give you time to reflect on your public responsibility.’

  He nodded at Kline to take Frye away.

  ‘This is illegal. I’ll have your job. There are witnesses.’

  Quigg cast his eyes over the few people gathered in reception. ‘Has anyone here witnessed me talking to Mr Frye this afternoon?’

  Everyone shook their heads, and looked suitably vacant.

  ‘Like me, they all think you’re a prick, Mr Frye.’

  Kline led him away.

  He grinned at the receptionist – a young woman with blonde-streaked hair tied back in an untidy bunch, a nice smile, and dimples.

  ‘Magdalena Van Groesen, I believe,’ he said, glancing at her name badge, and leaning on the counter like Casanova’s English second cousin twice removed.

  She blushed, looked away and said, ‘Yes, Sir.’

  ‘Is the assistant manager about?’

  ‘Attending to a minor incident in the park.’

  ‘But you can contact her?’

  ‘Yes, Sir.’

  ‘Ask her to get back here as soon as she can.’

  ‘Of course, Sir. I can make you a coffee as well, if you’d like?’

  He gave her one of his “dehydrated” smiles. ‘I do like, Magdalena. Got any hobnobs to go with it?’

  ‘Chocolate bourbons?’

  ‘Wonderful.’

  ‘Call me Maggie.’

  ‘Okay, Maggie.’

  Kline came back. ‘Sorted.’

  ‘What did you want to say to me?’ he asked.

  ‘Nothing much now. Thanks for having faith in me, Sir.’

  ‘I have every faith in you Kline, but I don’t expect to have to deal with crap like that again. If I give you a task, you have my authority to do everything reasonable – and sometimes unreasonable within limits – to expedite that task.’

  ‘Will do. Coveney was a problem though.’

  ‘As a DC and my partner, you’re senior to her. If she doesn’t want to follow my instructions – you should have put one of the others in charge.’

  ‘I didn’t know I could do that.’

  ‘In the station you wouldn’t be able to, but we’re operational now. I’m the senior officer in charge. You’re my second in command. Are you up for it?’

  ‘You betcha.’

  ‘That doesn’t mean you have my permission to be a ruthless dictator.’

  ‘You had to go and spoil it, didn’t you?’

  The receptionist re-appeared. ‘Miss Griffies is on her way back, and here’s the coffee and bourbons.’ She placed a mug, and small plate with three biscuits in the centre, on the reception counter.

  ‘You’re a life-saver,’ he said picking up the steaming mug. ‘Thanks, Maggie.’

  ‘Didn’t you get me one, Sir?’

  ‘I can understand that, as my new partner, you’re obviously confused about who works for whom. Well, let me clarify the situation. If you’d had your wits about you, coffee and biscuits would have been organised by you for me. An inspector should not be expected to organise his own refreshments, or that of a detecti
ve constable.’

  ‘With all the work you gave me, and the fucking hassle . . . ?’

  ‘If it’s too much for you . . . ?’

  She turned to Maggie. ‘Any chance of some coffee and biscuits, as well?’

  ‘I’m sorry, madam – staff only.’

  ‘But . . .’

  ‘Right Kline, tell me where we’re up to.’

  She went to take one of his chocolate bourbons, but he slapped her hand away.

  ‘I don’t think so.’

  ‘You’re a fucking crab ass, Sir.’

  He licked the crumbs off his fingers. ‘I know, but I’m a crab ass with chocolate bourbons.’

  The receptionist giggled.

  Kline gave Maggie a withering look, and took out her notebook.

  ‘Oh, before you start, Kline,’ he said, then looked at the receptionist. ‘We’ll need two rooms for tonight, Maggie.’

  Kline’s eyes opened wide. ‘We’re staying here?’

  ‘Yes. We’d waste too much time travelling back to Hammersmith and then coming back again in the morning.’

  ‘I haven’t got anything with me.’

  ‘I’m sure the hotel has complimentary shampoo, toothpaste, and so on . . .’ He looked at Maggie, who nodded.

  ‘What about underwear?’

  Maggie smiled. ‘We have some things in lost property.’

  ‘I’m not wearing someone else’s knickers.’

  ‘They have been dry-cleaned, madam.’

  ‘It’s for one night, Kline – live with it.’

  Maggie tip-tapped on her computer then said, ‘Rooms 22 and 25.’ She handed Quigg the key to number 22, and Kline the key to number 25.’

  ‘What about ghosts, zombies, and such like?’ Kline asked.

  ‘Would you like to order some, madam?’

  ‘Will you stop fucking call me “madam”. Do I look like I run a brothel?’

  ‘Would madam care for an answer?’

  ‘Call me detective, or I’m gonna . . .’

  He took Kline’s elbow and led her to a sofa. ‘Will you stop antagonising everybody you come into contact with?’

  ‘More like they’re antagonising me.’

  ‘So, how far have you got with that list I gave you?’

  ‘List? More like a fucking trilogy of six volumes.’