by Ellis, Tim
Tams dabbed at the wound with Hewitt’s bit of shirt like a theatre nurse. ‘I think we might have to break the shoulder bone to dislodge it.’
‘That wouldn’t be fair,’ Olivia said. ‘Especially after he volunteered to let you remove the pin.’
‘What do you think he’d choose – a broken shoulder or death?’
Kline intervened. ‘We’re not there yet. Let’s see if we can get the pin out first.’ She looked around. ‘Any ideas?’
Nobody said anything.
She took the bit of shirt off Tams and dabbed at the wound while examining the pin more closely. ‘It has a groove all the way around it about two centimetres from the top. I’d kill for a pair of pliers now.’
Tams edged her out of the way. ‘I have an idea.’ He leant over and put his mouth over the wound.
‘What the hell are you doing, Chris?’ Joy asked.
He bobbed up and spat a mouthful of bloody fluid on the floor.
Joy put her hand up to her mouth. ‘Oh, that’s disgusting.’
Alan moaned.
Tams pressed down on Hewitt’s arm and shoulder, gripped the top of the pin in his teeth and started to move his head from side to side at the same time as pulling upwards. The veins in the side of his neck stood out.
Joy vomited in the corner.
Tams’ head flew backwards and smacked into the wall.
With his eyes like saucers, Hewitt jerked upright. Slowly his eyes rolled upwards and disappeared. He then collapsed on the floor again.
Kline picked up the pin from the floor and wiped it on Hewitt’s shirt. ‘Let’s hope this works. Anyone got a brick?’
***
‘Coffee, Sir?’ Coveney asked as he climbed the steps into the command centre.
‘If I didn’t know better, I’d think you were an angel in disguise.’
‘I don’t see how that could be when the last time you spoke to me I was your dog.’
‘I’m sure dogs can be angels as well.’
She stood up and headed down the trailer. ‘We talk, you know.’
‘I’m well aware of how women can talk, Coveney’
‘About the different bosses we work for.’
‘I see. I hope you speak about me in glowing terms?’
‘We have a scoring system. We give everyone marks out of ten in five categories.’
‘Which are?’
‘Secret.’
‘So, I’m at the top of the chart, am I?’
‘The bottom.’
He laughed. ‘I know you’re joking. You’re just trying to wind me up.’
‘I’m afraid not, Sir.’
‘I can’t believe you’ve marked me worse than DCI Trigg in Fraud, or DI Singh in Robbery, and what about DI Sally Clutterbuck in Drugs?’
‘It’s not me, Sir. I think you’re probably a mid-list Inspector, but a lot of others. Well . . .’
‘Mid-list! What about you Hanson?’
‘The scoring is blind.’
‘That’ll be it then. You’ve obviously made a dog’s dinner of your marking when you had your eyes shut.’
Amies chipped in. ‘Some people have scored you reasonably high, Sir.’
‘They have? How many?’
‘Two.’
‘Out of how many?’
‘Seventy-five.’
‘I’m devastated.’
Coveney put a steaming mug of coffee in front of him. ‘You could move up the chart if you wanted to, you know.’
‘How?’
‘I’m sorry, the categories are secret.’
‘How can I move up the chart if you won’t tell me how to improve?’
‘You could be a lot nicer for one.’
‘Nicer! I take exception to that undeserved slur on my character. I’m one of the nicest people I know. Look, I’d love to sit and chat about what a wonderful person and boss I am, but I need to ring the Chief. I’m sure that the charts are a moveable feast.’
‘You’ve been keeping the bottom warm for quite a while now,’ Coveney said with a crooked smile.
‘Surely, after this investigation, I’ll rise up the charts by leaps and bounds?’
‘I wouldn’t bet any money on it, Sir.’
‘Where’s Tolliver? I thought you were keeping an eye on her.’
‘She said she was going to the restaurant.’
‘And you let her?’
‘I have better things to do than babysit reporters.’
He just hoped that she hadn’t gone wandering off on her own. Two missing people was enough for now. He felt sick to his stomach. How could he be the worst DI to work for? Surely they were playing a joke on him. Well, it wasn’t something he had time to worry about now. He rang the Chief.
‘How’s it going, Quigg?’
He told the Chief about the mine. ‘I need an armed specialist support team, and I won’t take . . .’
‘DI Caesar and his team will be with you in about two hours.’
‘Are you feeling okay, Sir?’
‘I could easily change my mind.’
‘No. That’ll be great.’ What was wrong with the Chief? He hadn’t even had to beg. Caesar! That was a new name on him. It sounded Italian, or something that someone might smother over a salad. He didn’t really keep up with the changes in CO19 though – they were a weird bunch.
‘Anything else?’
His mind had gone blank. The Chief giving him a search team without any mention of the dwindling budget had completely thrown him. ‘Can I ring you back if I think of anything?’
‘You’d better not, Quigg. Mrs Bellmarsh is about to bring the canapés out. We have guests from the Commons.’
‘I didn’t know you opened up your house to homeless people. Very generous of you, I’m sure.’
‘Goodnight, Quigg.’
‘Have a good one, Sir.’
Chapter Fifteen
That fucking Quigg! Well, that was just the point – he wasn’t. He’d better not be, anyway. She was here stewing in her own juices while he was doing what? Or, doing whom? If he didn’t come home tonight she was definitely going to go to the building site and bring a dozen builders home – one each for Ruth and Duffy and ten for her. Was ten enough? Maybe she needed twenty, thirty or . . .
She had no idea why she didn’t just go and get herself a builder or three, or an accountant, or a tramp from the High Street. She didn’t love Quigg. In fact, she had ignored her feelings for him. He’d given her a home, protection, a room of her own, a computer system to die for and plenty of sex. It was uncomplicated and that suited her. She could walk away anytime she felt like it. At least, that’s what she told herself. So, why didn’t she simply grab a man off the street?
How long had it been now? Nearly a week for Christ’s sake. She’d probably get more sex in a convent. At least there she’d have the gardeners, the delivery boy, the local clergy, some visitors who were lost, the painters and decorators . . . a whole host of people she could rely on to service a bitch on heat.
She couldn’t rely on Quigg though. The trains and buses were more reliable than Quigg. If she had to mark him out of ten for reliability she’d give him a minus three.
It was all right for Ruth and Duffy, they weren’t interested in sex. All they wanted to do was to get their bodies back to normal. As if that was ever going to happen. She’d skimmed through one of the thousands of baby books lying around the house and found a chapter on the physical side-effects of childbirth. God almighty! Why do women have children? There were pictures of sagging breasts, a vagina the size of the Blackwall tunnel, stretch marks like the Michelin Man, haemorrhoids drooping out of arses like string bags full of onions and a hundred other physical horrors. No fucking way – she’d keep taking the pill until she was at least a hundred and twenty years old. She was never going to have a baby. A woman would have to be one crazy bitch to let a little alien grow inside her and take over her body – ain’t never gonna happen.
Once Ruth and Duffy had given birt
h and returned home with their screaming brats and useless battered bodies Quigg would be knocking on her door. Yeah, she could imagine what he’d be like.
‘Please let me in, Lucy,’ he’d say.
She’d laugh insanely. ‘Weren’t you the bastard who left me without sex for a week?’
‘Who me? You must be thinking of someone else.’
‘I don’t think so. I kept threatening you with builders, but you still didn’t come home. I had the hottest body in the northern hemisphere for God’s sake. What type of man are you?’
‘I’m here now.’
‘Too late, Quigg. I’m Bob the Builder’s bitch now.’
She was clattering around the old church on her own wondering what to do with herself. Ruth and Duffy were at antenatal class and had taken the twins with them. Normally, she would have volunteered to look after the twins – Dylan and Lily Rose – but she didn’t want to be lumbered with the two rugrats if Quigg came back. As soon as he walked through the front door she was going to drag him off to her room and fuck him dry. He’d be like one of those ancient shrivelled human husks by the time she’d finished with him.
Where the hell was he? She just knew he wasn’t going to come home again tonight. She decided to phone him.
***
His phone started playing Crazy Frog as he entered reception, so he decided to sit on the sofa again. It was getting to be a home-from-home.
The command centre night shift were due on, so he thought he’d make himself scarce. And anyway, he’d had enough abuse for one night. Maybe tomorrow he’d ask to see the chart. He’d only believe he was propping up the bottom if he saw it with his own eyes. Of course, he’d be interested to know who was at the top and where everyone else was in relation to him. He also needed to reassure himself Tolliver hadn’t got herself lost and to eat something before Perkins thought he was one of the corpses that had escaped from the graveyard.
‘Tell me you’re just parking the car.’
‘Hello, Lucy,’ he said into the phone. ‘Have you still got the builders there?’
‘Oh yes. There’s three in the bed, two in the wardrobe for later and one in the fridge for a midnight snack. Is there something wrong with you?’
‘You know my job comes first. This is a very complex case.’
‘You don’t know what complex is, Quigg. Complex is a bitch on heat who hasn’t had sex for nearly a month . . .’
‘A week . . .’
‘See, that’s you all over. You have a hot woman at your mercy and all you can think about is splitting hairs.’
‘Hey, that’s a good one.’
‘I’m being serious.’
‘Sorry. How are Ruth and Duffy, and the twins?’
‘Antenatal class, and don’t change the subject.’
‘Tomorrow is looking good. I’m in desperate need of some clean clothes, so probably tomorrow.’
‘You’re fucking someone else, aren’t you?’
‘I . . .’
‘Crap! There’s someone at the door, but you’d better come home tomorrow. It’ll be your very last chance before the builder invasion.’
‘I’ll . . .’
Lucy had gone.
He wasn’t really having sex with someone else. More like other people were having sex with him.
‘You look a bit lost,’ Magdalena said sitting down next to him. ‘Need a map?’
‘What I need is the room again and another change of clothes.’
‘Already organised. You’re still in Room 22, and I’ve put some clothes in the wardrobe for you and the lady.’
‘The lady?’ How in hell did Magdalena know Tolliver had slept with him last night, unless . . . ?’
She rested her hand on his knee. ‘Can I make you a coffee?’
‘Who are you, Magdalena?’
‘You know who I am. I’m the friendly receptionist at the Waterbury Hotel.’
‘I think you’re a lot more than that. Tell me about the earring. How did it get in my bed? And what about last night? How did you know . . ?’
‘Inspector Quigg.’
He looked up. It was Jenkins. ‘Yes?’
‘I’ve been waiting for you.’
‘Well, here I am.’
Jenkins looked down his nose at Magdalena. ‘Don’t you have work to do? We don’t pay you to fraternise with the local police.’
She stood, smiled at Quigg and returned to the reception desk.
‘I have the blueprints in Mr Frye’s office.’
‘That was quick.’
‘Unbeknown to me, the manager had a spare key to the safe.’
‘Really?’
‘So, do you want these blueprints?’
‘Not personally. Give them to Constable Coveney or Cheal in the command centre.’
‘You could say thank you.’
‘You’re lucky I haven’t locked you up for messing me around.’
‘Have you found Mr Frye yet?’
‘Don’t be stupid, Mr Jenkins. Do you think that if we’d found him you’d still be here?’
‘I shall be submitting a complaint, Inspector.’
‘It’s been a long day, Mr Jenkins. I suggest you get the hell away from me before I do something you’ll regret.’
Jenkins turned and left.
He felt faint through lack of food. He pushed himself up and made his way to the restaurant.
Tolliver waved at him.
‘You’re lucky I’m still here,’ she said.
‘I feel blessed.’
Her lip curled up. ‘So, what have you got to tell me?’
‘That I think I’m going to help myself to the rump steak with green beans and cauliflower cheese. For afters, I’ll probably have the jam roly-poly and custard, and wash it down with a strong coffee.’
‘Very funny.’
Like a man seeing a mirage shimmering before him in the distance, he headed for the food counter.
‘Need any help?’ the grey-haired woman behind the counter asked.
‘Rump steak please.’
‘Certainly. If there’s any leftovers I plan to take it home to my two terriers. They like nothing better than a bit of rump steak. Well, you can hardly blame them . . .’
The woman prattled on right to the till. He could still hear her as he walked back to the table.
He hesitated.
‘What?’ Tolliver asked.
‘I’m just wondering whether I should sit at another table so that I can eat in peace.’
‘I won’t badger you while you’re eating.’
He sat down.
‘What about tonight?’
‘I thought you weren’t going to . . .’
‘Sleeping arrangements.’
‘Oh! I’ve organised a room for myself.’
She stuck a finger in his custard and licked it off slowly. ‘You know what I mean.’
He moved the dish out of her reach. ‘I’m sure I have no idea what you’re talking about.’
‘Just sleep tonight though. I don’t want you thinking I’m that type of girl.’
‘And what type of girl would that be?’
‘If you don’t know, I’m certainly not going to tell you.’ She reached over and moved his pudding dish back to where it had been, scooped up another blob of custard on her index finger and slid it into her mouth.
He moved the dish farther away from her. At this rate he’d only have roly-poly left and roly-poly without custard just wasn’t the same. If she’d wanted a pudding she should have got one instead of stealing his.
‘Was it good for you?’
‘I’m trying to eat here.’
‘Sorry.’ She moved her chair round the table and shovelled up some more custard from his dish. ‘It should never have happened. I feel really guilty. I’m engaged to be married, you know.’ She flashed a tiny engagement ring at him.
‘We’ll just sleep tonight,’ he said. ‘That will solve all your problems.’
‘Really?’
&n
bsp; ‘Yes.’
‘Oh, okay. So, what news have you got for me?’
He told her about the false wall, the graveyard and the mine.
‘God! This is a story and a half. I can’t believe no other reporters have found out about what’s happening here.’
‘The investigation has been fairly low key up to now, but I’m quite sure that when the armed support team arrives, the media circus won’t be far behind them.’
‘When are they coming?’
‘A couple of hours.’
‘I don’t suppose you’ll get much sleep once they arrive.’
‘No, I don’t suppose I will.’
‘You could always go up to the room and grab a couple of hours sleep now, so that you’re fresh for when they do arrive.’
‘And what will you do?’
She shrugged. ‘I don’t know. I do feel a bit tired as well actually. We didn’t get much sleep last night, and it has been a hectic day.’
He looked at his roly-poly and custard. The dish was empty. ‘Just sleep?’
She nodded. ‘Just sleep.’
He went via the command centre to tell Cheal about DI Caesar and his team arriving. ‘I’m going for a couple of hours sleep because it looks like it might be a long night. Call me when he arrives.’
‘Will do, Sir.’
***
He walked across the road, into the grounds of the church and strode up the path.
Quigg had really fallen on his feet. Three women to shag when he had the urge and a sprawling church to live in – very nice if you could get it. Well, Quigg might have got it, but ex-DS Mervyn Jones – late of the Murder Investigation Team at Hammersmith Police Station – was about to take it away from him. It was only fair. Quigg had to realise that he was playing with the big boys now. If you poked one of the big boys in the eye, he didn’t poke you back – no, like-for-like was for wimps – the big boys would break your arms and legs, and then to prove a point, poke you in the eye.
He knocked on the door.
The only one who knew him was Duffy. If she answered . . .
The door opened.
It was the young skinny woman with black spiky hair. Yes, he’d like to give her something to remember him by.