by Ellis, Tim
The woman was young, in her late twenties, with bottle-blonde hair that needed the roots re-doing and a mouth that was too large for her face.
‘I don’t think they’re going to sacrifice her, or anything like that,’ Bouette said. ‘It’s just a lot of chanting and sex these days.’
Sergeant Thompson eyed Bouette. ‘And you were involved with one of these groups?’
‘Undercover.’
‘I’d like to hear all about it. Maybe we could . . .’
‘Sergeant!’ Caesar said.
‘Sorry, Sir. It’s the chanting.’
The chanting stopped.
They peered over the ledge again.
Someone or something had entered the cavern. The figure was shrouded in a hooded cloak.
The worshippers were quiet now. They had prostrated themselves on the floor around the hooded figure.
Caesar tried to catch sight of a face, but the cloak completely covered the person. Surely these people hadn’t conjured up Lucifer or one of his minions. He smiled. Preposterous! It was simply a man dressed in a cloak.
The woman on the altar began to scream, but it was cut short by the cloaked figure moving in a blur of speed and slicing her open from neck to pubis.
Bouette made a grunting noise.
They saw the figure stop and turn toward the source of the noise.
Shit!
They all jerked back from the ledge.
Caesar would liked to have seen the white of the person’s eyes. Why were they hiding?
‘Move,’ he hissed.
They stumbled back the way they’d come. When they reached the main tunnel they’d been following before, they carried on.
‘That wasn’t Satan, was it, Sir?’ Nagpal asked.
‘Bouette’s the satanologist, Nagpal. You should be asking her.’
Bouette laughed. ‘It’s the first time that people chanting has worked if it was Satan.’
‘What I want to know,’ Sergeant Thompson said. ‘Is, if it wasn’t Satan, who – or what – the hell was it? You all saw what it did to that woman on the altar – exactly the same as Doll and Herbert. We should have opened fire, killed the lot of them.’
‘And announced our arrival, Sergeant? We have a mission. Nothing else matters. The mission always comes first – you know that.’
‘Yes. Sorry, Sir.’
Chapter Nineteen
He was concerned.
They were driving towards Slaughterhouse 8 astride two buggies. Although “driving” was probably not the right word to use. It was more like “bimbling” or “ambling” – meandering with no particular haste or purpose. Yet, he was in a hurry and he did have a purpose. He remembered Kline trying to wrestle the keys to the buggy off him when they’d first arrived at Grisly Park. Sadness enveloped him. She was probably dead by now. What a waste of a life. Sometimes he hated the job.
Mulley was leading. King was driving the second buggy. He was sitting next to King trying to make the damn thing move quicker by pressing his foot down on a non-existent accelerator.
Everything seemed to be turning into a pile of shit. The Chief was right – he did have the faecal touch. He probably should have dragged Tolliver out of that hotel by her ankles, but he knew that if Perkins found anything he’d get the guests out of the hotel. Perkins was a bit of a drip, but he knew he could trust him to do the right thing. And in a way, although he was as crazy as a straight banana, he was fond of him.
They had to leave the buggies at the hoardings and scramble through a gap the size of a rabbit hole. He was just glad that the clothes he was wearing were Frye’s and not his own. What had happened to Frye?
If the truth were known, he still had no idea what the hell was going on with this investigation. Kline had imagined that it was all connected to the past, but he’d had his doubts right from the start. Yet, the more he found out about the past, the more the present seemed to make sense – or did it?
Now, here he was chasing a child and hoping they could throw some light on what might be happening. It all sounded a bit desperate.
King’s fat arse was stuck in the hole. The trouble was, he and Mulley were on this side of the hoarding. They should have let King slither through first. If they’d done that they could have helped her through with some size ten boots. Mulley was trying to pull her through the opening by her arms, but it looked more likely that he was going to pull her arms out of their sockets.
‘Leave her,’ Quigg said.
‘No, don’t leave me here,’ King pleaded. Her voice quavered as if she was about to cry.
‘We’ll push you out,’ Mulley offered.
They tried, but that didn’t work either. Her oversized breasts were preventing a rear exit, and neither of them wanted to start manhandling her breasts.
‘Call someone on the radio,’ Quigg suggested. ‘Get them to come and get her.’
‘Yeah. Don’t worry, Debbie,’ Mulley said with a laugh. ‘I’ll call some of the guys to come and do the honours.’
‘I’d rather you killed me and had done with it,’ she said. ‘You know exactly what they’re going to do. They’ll bring their cameras and take a million pictures for posterity. My trousers will be pulled down to my ankles. All the team will do a friggin’ drive past. Just kill me now. I don’t think I could live with the shame.’
Mulley used his radio to put a call out for help. ‘They’re on their way, Debbie,’ he said.
‘Who?’
‘Steve Gurr and John Webb.’
‘Oh God. You’ve done that on purpose, haven’t you, Mulley? They’re the worst two you could have possibly called.’
Mulley laughed. ‘Come on, Inspector. She’ll be all right there. The others will come along soon and do things to her, but that’s okay. If it had been someone else she’d have been first in the queue to take liberties. What goes around comes around.’
Quigg followed Mulley along the overgrown path.
They both had high-powered torches.
In the distance he could see the entrance to Slaughterhouse 8. It had an enormous smiling meat worker holding a bloody meat cleaver in one hand and a severed human head in the other. It left no doubt as to the nature of the attraction. What possessed people to come to a place like this? And to bring their children?
He pulled out his phone, checked it hadn’t put itself on silent again and called Lucy.
‘Yes?’
‘You were going to ring me with news.’
‘Have I rung you?’
‘No, that’s why I’m ringing you.’
‘There’s a reason I haven’t rung you.’
‘There’s no news.’
‘I wonder how you ever got promoted to Inspector.’
‘Thanks.’
‘When there’s news, I’ll ring you.’
‘Is Duffy still in theatre?’
‘You have to keep digging, don’t you?’
‘I might be out of contact for a while.’
‘Putting your phone on silent again while you . . . ?’
‘Nothing like that. I’m going underground and I probably won’t be able to get a signal.’
‘So, when I have got news it’ll be no good ringing you because you won’t answer your phone?’
‘You could leave me a voicemail. As soon as I get a signal I’ll listen to it.’
‘You’re fucking unbelievable, Quigg.’
Lucy had ended the call.
He felt lousy. What he wanted to do was drop everything and get back there, but there was no way he could do that.
Next, he phoned Perkins.
‘Well?’
‘We found one bomb underneath each of the three trucks and two in Room 13. They’re due to go off at two o’clock.’
He looked at the time displayed on his phone. It was five to two. ‘And?’
‘Oh yes. I phoned the Chief. He said he couldn’t help. So, we started to evacuate everyone, and you’ll never guess . . .’
‘Is this a long st
ory, Perkins?’
‘Mr Jenkins.’
‘Not a very nice person.’
‘No, but he used to be a bomb disposal officer in the Royal Engineers before he joined Sanctuary Holdings.’
‘That’s probably why he’s bald.’
‘That doesn’t deserve a response, Sir.’
‘So, you’re telling me he’s disarming the devices?’
‘Yes.’
‘I hope he knows what he’s doing.’
‘He’s disarmed four already.’
‘Oh well. I suppose I’ll have to eat humble pie when I get back.’
‘I look forward to being a fly on the wall for that performance, Sir.’
‘In your dreams, Perkins. Listen, I’m going to be out of contact for a while because I’m going . . .’
He heard a loud explosion in his ear, and saw a bright light in the sky.
‘What’s happened?’
‘Uh oh!’
‘What?’
‘One of my trucks has just gone up in a ball of flame. I’ll have to call you back . . .’
The line went dead.
They reached the entrance to Slaughterhouse 8.
‘Are you ready, Inspector?’
He tried ringing Perkins again, but got no answer.
‘Let’s go, Mulley. The sooner we sort this out the better.’
***
There were many offshoots from the main tunnel, which was hardly straight by any definition of straight. A number of times they seemed to be travelling in the opposite direction, but Caesar ordered them to keep going.
Eventually, they reached a fissure in the side of the wall that had led them to the Clown’s Revenge.
‘Is this it, Sir?’ Bouette asked.
‘Shut up,’ Bouette.’
‘Sorry, Sir.’
He was simply glad that he hadn’t lost any more men. God knows what he was going to tell Herbert and Doll’s relatives. Without a body to bury or cremate there was no closure so they said. Maybe, after it was all over they could . . . but then he’d be asked to explain what had happened to them, and he didn’t think he could do that. Best to leave well alone – let sleeping carcasses lie. They died in the line of duty. That’s all the relatives needed to know. Take the pension and run.
‘What is this place, Sir?’ Nagpal asked.
‘Will everyone stop asking stupid questions. Do I look like the Oracle of Delphi?’
Thompson peered at him. ‘The what, Sir?’
‘Never mind. Take a quick look around.’
It wasn’t long before Constable Bouette found Pogo’s Place. ‘Sir, over here.’
He joined her. ‘Yes?’
‘Cells, Sir. With people in.’
‘Really?’
‘Yes. Really, Sir.’
He walked into the room and saw the eight cell doors.
Faces were clamouring at the small grills.
‘Let us out.’
‘Watch out for the clown.’
‘Open the door.’
‘Are you CO19?’
‘I’m sorry?’ he said, shining his light at a pretty young woman with long hair.
‘Did Inspector Quigg send you? I’m job. Let me out.’
‘Let you out? No, I’m sorry, I can’t do that.’
‘But . . . I’m a copper . . . like you.’
‘Yes. That’s unfortunate, but I still can’t let you out.’
‘What do you mean, Sir?’ Bouette said.
He moved her out into the tunnel. ‘How many people are in those cells, Bouette?’
‘Probably about thirty or forty.’
‘What would happen if we opened the doors?’
‘Well . . . I don’t know what you mean, Sir.’
‘Let me put it another way: Why are we here?’
‘To kill a rogue scientist and destroy evidence that could bring the government to its knees.’
‘Would we be able to do that with thirty or forty people wandering about bumping into everything?’
Bouette didn’t respond.
‘Cat got your tongue, Bouette?’
‘One of those people is a copper, Sir.’
‘You’re confused. All of those people are witnesses. If we let them out, what would they tell the media about us?’
‘That we’re heroes?’
‘Oh yes. We’re definitely heroes, but our exploits have to remain secret. Think of yourself as an unsung hero, or in your case – a heroine.’
‘I suppose you’re right, Sir.’
‘I’m always right, Bouette, Remember that and you won’t go far wrong.’
‘Yes, Sir.’
He went back to the door. ‘What’s your name?’
‘DC Tallie Kline.’
‘Well, DC Tallie Kline, I’d love to help you, but we’re not down here on a rescue mission.’
‘You’re not going to let us out?’
‘Didn’t I just say that?’
‘You fucking bastard. Let us out.’
She certainly had a mouth on her. ‘Come on, Bouette. Time for us to leave.’
‘When I get out of here, you’re a fucking dead man. I know where you work. Remember my face, because I’m going to be your worst nightmare.’
There was a cacophony of noise as the prisoners rattled the doors and shouted for him to let them out.
‘Let’s get back on track,’ he said to the others. ‘We still have a mission to complete.’
‘Did you hear that, Sir?’ Thompson asked.
Caesar checked his watch – two o’clock. He smiled. ‘Part one complete,’ he said. ‘Now for part two.’
So, the scientist was dressing up as a clown. Why had the people been locked up? He guessed they were a supply of human guinea pigs. If that was the case, then he was rescuing them. He was saving them from a fate worse than death.
***
‘It’s all right, Goldie,’ Dunkin said, wrapping his arms about her. ‘We’re here.’
‘Did you see it?’
‘See what?’
‘The monster.’
Wingnut gave a nervous laugh. ‘There ain’t no monsters here.’
Even though she’d felt safe and warm in his arms, she pushed herself away from Dunkin. ‘You think I’m lyin’, Wingnut?’
‘I didn’t say that,’ Wingnut said, shuffling his feet.
‘You may as well have.’
Dunkin grinned and rubbed her shoulder. ‘He didn’t mean anything by it, Goldie.’
‘You got torches?’ she asked them.
Wingnut switched his torch on. The beam bounced around the room. ‘Course.’
There were power switches on the wall opposite the open door, some boards stacked to Goldie’s left, and a bucket and mop behind her. The mop had fallen on the floor.
She pushed them out of the room.
‘Over there,’ she said pointing across the railway track. ‘Shine your torch up there.’
Dunkin and Wingnut both did as she’d asked them to.
The beams revealed animal carcasses hanging from large s-shaped hooks.
‘Keep goin’,’ she urged them.
Eventually, the lights came to rest on two men hanging upside down. Hooks had been pushed through their ankles, their internal organs were falling out of cavernous wounds, and blood dripped down into the stainless steel channels.
‘Oh God! Oh God! Oh God!’ Goldie said under her breath. ‘We have to get out of here.’
Wingnut stared at the corpses. His mouth hung open as if he was pretending to be a tunnel. ‘A monster? What type of monster?
‘The type we don’t want to mess with,’ Dunkin said. ‘Let’s get out of here.’
They turned to go, but saw two lights coming towards them.
‘Oh God! Oh God! Oh God! More people comin’ for me.’
‘We can’t go that way,’ Wingnut said.
A torchlight caught them like petrified animals on a country road.
‘Look, there’s some kids, Inspector,�
�� a man shouted. ‘And the girl is with them.’
‘See, they’re after me,’ Goldie cried.
Dunkin put his arm around her waist. ‘Well, they ain’t gonna catch you if I have anything to do with it. Come on. We’ll have to go into the slaughterhouse.’
‘Oh God! Oh God! Oh God! The monster’s gonna get us.’
‘What would you rather do?’ Wingnut boiled it down for them. ‘Hand yourself in to the police, or take your chances with the monster?’
They began to run into the darkness away from the lights.
Goldie wondered whether they were doing the right thing. If the police caught them, they’d probably be locked up forever. If the monster caught them, they’d probably be dead forever. She didn’t know which was best – jail or death.
***
Kline couldn’t believe it. What the fuck was going on? Why hadn’t that jerk let her out? He’d just left them, probably to die if nobody else came to rescue them. He hadn’t even offered to let people know where they were. What type of fucking copper was he?
Where was DI Quigg? How come he wasn’t with them?
‘I thought you were a copper?’ Tams said.
‘So did I.’
‘Then why didn’t they let you out?’
‘If you shut the fuck up, I might be able to think.’ But she couldn’t think. What was there to think about?
Feelings of powerlessness, hopelessness and futility washed over her again. She wanted to crawl into a corner and cry until there were no more tears left inside her. She had to struggle to stop those feelings overwhelming her.
Those coppers were members of CO19. They were down here to find and kill the clown, but why weren’t they rescuing the survivors? No one else would come, that was for sure. The clown had the key to the cells. If they killed him then they’d die down here.
‘We’re screwed,’ she said.
Joy Chart and Charlie Myers hugged each other and began sobbing.
‘Why are you crying?’ she shouted at them. She was absolutely in no mood for any shit. ‘You wanted the end of the fucking world, well here it is – enjoy.’
The crying became louder.
‘Hey,’ she shouted through the door grill. ‘Anybody in the other cells?’