by Ellis, Tim
‘And a number of staff from the hotel.’
‘What are you talking about, Coveney?’
Kline interrupted. ‘DC Bouette . . .’
‘Who?’
‘The CO19 officer who opened up the cells and let us out. She told us that she saw all these people chanting and worshipping something in a hooded cloak that they couldn’t get a proper look at. The clean-up team that the Chief sent found Jessie Tolliver on the altar. All the others were scattered around the cavern. They’d all been slit from throat to gut and their insides ripped out. Apparently, they thought they were worshipping Satan.’
He thought about he and Tolliver being taken the night before, and guessed that if he’d stayed in the room he probably would have been on that altar with her. ‘How many people in total?’
‘With Tolliver, seventeen.’
‘What a waste.’
Kline half sat on the sloped worktop. ‘That’s not counting the four people in the cells at Pogo’s Place.’
‘Where?’
‘Never mind. They were part of a doomsday cult who were waiting for aliens to invade and the world to come to an end. There’s also five CO19 officers who are missing, two security guards were also found in the tunnel you were in, and besides Daniel Frye and Cora Jiggins, we don’t know how many other people died in Slaughterhouse 8 because it completely collapsed. From what people are saying, I don’t think they’re in any hurry to excavate the cavern because of the health and safety issues involved.’
He thought about those strange creatures in the cages and that hooded monster with massive hairy hands. No, probably best to let alien-human hybrids lie. ‘All in all it was a bit of a dog’s dinner, wasn’t it?’
‘It was a difficult case, Sir,’ Amies said, putting a mug of coffee into his waiting hand. ‘I’m sure no one will blame you.’
‘Blame me! For what?’
‘The number of dead people, the destruction of two trucks, the collapse of one of the theme park events, DC Kline being abducted and nearly killed, and then there’s the mess you made of the Audi, the Grisly Park manager going missing, and . . .’
‘All right, I think you can stop now, Amies. None of those things were my fault.’
‘Of course they weren’t, Sir,’ Coveney said.
‘You wanted me to cross-reference the staff list and photographs from 1970 to 1973,’ Coveney said. ‘Do you want to know what I found?’
‘The past is probably best left in the past.’
‘I want to know,’ Kline said.
‘Has Coveney shown you the picture of Cora Jiggins?’
‘You’ve got a picture?’
‘Show her, Coveney.’
‘I wasn’t going to.’
‘She has a right to see.’
Coveney shrugged and passed Kline the blow-up of Cora Jiggins.
‘It’s me,’ Kline said, looking at Quigg. ‘How’s that possible?’
Quigg shrugged. ‘I’m at a loss. Are you sure you weren’t adopted?’
‘Noooo,’ but she didn’t look sure.
Kline passed the photograph back to Coveney. ‘It must be a coincidence. They say everyone has at least one double somewhere in the world. The 1973 Cora Jiggins must be my doppelganger.’
‘Okay. So, you accounted for all the staff, Coveney?’
‘All except one.’
‘Oh? Was it one of the two who wore the medical alert bracelets – the porter, Reginald Newton or the male nurse, Donovan Keller?
‘You’ve got a good memory, Sir, but no it wasn’t either of those two. It was a man called . . .’
‘Did you know that Daniel Frye wore a medical alert bracelet?’ Kline said.
Quigg rubbed his stubble. ‘Did he? I wonder if he was the person we saw on the security DVD dragging the black bag in the corridor.’
Kline nodded. ‘I think he was. It was to stop us looking too closely for another way into Room 13.’
‘You were saying, Coveney?’
‘Clarence Mobec – he was a guard.’
‘And he never appears on a photograph?’
‘No.’
‘Well, Kline can look into it next week while I’m on leave.’
Kline stared at him. ‘You didn’t say you were taking leave next week.’
‘I also didn’t say that I’m the father of a baby girl.’
‘Congratulations, Sir. How many is that now?’ Hanson asked.
‘I wish I knew.’
A car horn came from outside.
He stood up. ‘Come on, Kline. Let’s go home.’
‘What about the things you wanted me to get from Bethlam Hospital and Museum?’
‘Kline will be scrabbling about for work next week.’
‘Okay, Sir. One last thing.’
‘Go on then.’
‘We had another look for the evidence, psychiatric evaluation, and committal order for Cora Jiggins from 1973. It was fabricated, and there’s no psychiatrist called Jane Byrne.’
‘As I said, Kline can have a look at everything next week and tie up any loose ends, but I’m of the opinion that the past is best left in the past.’
‘Have a good holiday, Sir,’ they chorused.
He sat in the rear seat of the police car and closed his eyes. He was exhausted. So, that was it. There were still a million unanswered questions, but he had to be satisfied with those he had found answers for. Sometimes, especially when the past intersected with the present, answers were impossible to find. He’d solved the current murders, and that was all that had been asked of him. The story about aliens, he was sure, was something Perkins had fabricated to make his job sound more interesting. There would be a simple explanation for the things he’d seen and what had happened if only he could be bothered to look, but life was already too complicated without searching for aliens and conspiracies under every rock. He had no doubt that there had been something terrible and unnatural in the Waterbury Asylum for the Criminally Insane, but he was sure it had gone now.
Chapter Twenty-Two
Aftermath
Monday, July 16
‘Mornin’ ‘spector Quigg.’
‘Hello, Mandy. How are you?’
‘Confused.’
‘Oh! Why is that?’
She sat down on the hard-backed chair in front of his chipboard desk. ‘Well, I know you’ve got the triples, and someone said you had twins from somewhere, then this other person said that someone called Duffy had a baby girl called Máire, and then there’s Cheryl who’s gonna have your sprog, and someone else you’re living with, and weren’t there another ‘spector who you got pregnant? I was telling my mum about it, but I lost count of how many grunts you got.’
‘Is it important? Are you doing your maths A-Level at night classes?’
‘Nah. I decided to wait a few more years until I do that. Ya know what I think?’
‘What’s that?’
‘I think that with all the experience I’m gonna get working with you lot I’ll get a ‘tective’s job for sure. Seems to me that I gotta learn some important things afore I put me replication in.’
‘What things would they be?’
‘I gotta learn to fuckin’ swear like ‘tective Kline.’
‘You’ll never get a job as a detective unless you can swear like Kline, that’s for sure.’
‘Then I gotta learn how to sit down all day and drink a gallon of coffee, which could be a problem ‘cause I don’t even like coffee.’
‘Coffee’s a must, Mandy. Only the clerical staff drink tea.’
‘As well, I gotta learn to sleep with anybody who might be able to help me get on. I don’t see as that’s a problem ‘cause I sleep with people now for no reason at all. Although, don’t tell my Wayne. He don’t know I sleep with those other people.’
‘I don’t think you need to prostitute yourself to move up the promotional ladder in the police force, Mandy. It’s an equal opportunities employer.’
‘You do.’
�
�Ah well! My situation is slightly different. There are two types of people in this world. The first type grabs fate with both hands and tells him which way to go. Now, if you were that type of person you’d do your A-Levels, your degree and you’d join the police force straight after you received your results. Do you understand what I’m saying? You’d be in control.’
‘I think so. So, if my Wayne says, “Get me a beer”. I say, “Fuck off, moron, get your own”?’
‘Something like that. Although you’d be more in control if you got rid of Wayne altogether.’
‘Oh, I think my Wayne would have something to say about that.’
‘The second type of person isn’t in control of their own life. Things just happen to them. For example, you say that you’re simply going to carry on working here until you gain enough experience to get a job as a detective.’
‘Yep.’
‘That’s relying on fate. You’re not in control.’
‘I thought I was. I’ve made the decision to stay. Don’t that put me in the driving seat?.
He realised that he wasn’t in control of his own life anymore. ‘Yes, I suppose it does.’
‘So, which type of person are you, ‘spector?’
‘The second type. Women seem to take advantage of me. I’m merely a puppet on a string.’
She stood up. ‘Yeah, right.’
‘Is that what you came in for?’
‘Oh no! Every time I come in here you keep me talking. I’ll be thinking you got an interior motive. You got another postcard.’ She pulled a crumpled card from the pocket of her smock. ‘It says: “You didn’t call me,” and there’s a picture of the triples for real. Hey, you got some nice looking sprogs.’
He held out his hand. ‘Thanks, Mandy. Have a nice day.’
‘You too, ‘spector,’ she said as she shut the door.
No, he hadn’t called her. He was going to, and then something happened to stop him. And then, of course, he’d forgotten all about it.
***
‘Hello, Coveney,’ he said to the head peering round his office door. ‘What brings you up here?’
‘Sorry, Sir.’
‘There’s no need to apologise. I thought you all did a fantastic job at Grisly Park, and I plan to write a report to that effect as soon as I get a minute.’
‘I told her it wasn’t your fault, but she won’t believe me.’
He felt like a psychotherapist. ‘Sit down and tell me what’s troubling you, Coveney.’
She came into his office, closed the door and sat down in the chair. ‘Inspector Wright thinks that it was your fault the command centre broke in half and had to be disposed of.’
His eyes opened wide. ‘I wasn’t even there.’
‘That’s what I said to her, but she’s blaming you anyway. Apparently, it’s decimated her budget. She says she’s going to be a million miles away from her target this year because of you.’
‘She can blame me if she wants to. I have broad shoulders.’
‘Well, that okay until you want another mobile command centre.’
‘I’m sorry?’
‘You’ll never get one again.’
He half smiled. ‘She’ll give me one. She has no choice.’
‘She used phrases such as: “Not on my watch” and “Over my dead body”.’
‘She’ll give me one,’ he said again. ‘I have a way with women.’
Coveney’s forehead creased up. ‘I’ve not seen any evidence of that, Sir.’
‘Let’s talk about the chart.’
She stood up. ‘Chart? I don’t know anything about a chart. Anyway, I have to go now, but all the girls thought it was an interesting experience working with you – a bit like being a passenger in an open-top car while it’s raining.’ She opened the door to leave.
‘What’s that meant to mean, Coveney?’
An enigmatic smile appeared on her face. ‘Have a nice day, Sir.’
He’d have to go down and speak to Nichola Wright. Once he explained to her that he wasn’t even there, that it was DI Caesar from CO19 putting bombs under the trucks, that the person disarming the bombs ran out of time, that Perkins’ truck had completely disintegrated and the shock wave had crippled her truck – if he explained all of that she’d be fine about it. Coveney obviously hadn’t explained it in enough detail so that Nichola could see that he was completely innocent of all charges.
And while he was down in Operations he’d have to get to the bottom of that chart. Maybe he could see it, find out where everybody was on it, get a photocopy and study it in detail to see how he could improve his ranking. He still couldn’t believe that he was languishing at the bottom.
***
‘They won’t give me a fucking pool car,’ Kline said as she burst into his office and started pacing in front of the desk.
‘Taking your bra off didn’t work this time, huh?’ he asked staring at the outline of her nipples through her white tank top.
She grinned, pulled a light blue lace bra out of the back pocket of her jeans and put it on like a contortionist. ‘Bastards. Do you know what they wanted me to do?’
‘I have a sensitive disposition, you know.’
‘Yeah well. I told them to . . .’
‘So, we didn’t get a pool car?’
‘Nope. We’ll have to use your Mercedes. Hand over the keys. I’ll take it for a test drive to get the feel of it.’
He laughed. ‘Never gonna happen, Kline.’
‘You drive like an old aged fucking pensioner.’
‘I saw you, you know.’
‘Saw me what?’
‘Shoot DI Caesar.’
‘I don’t know how, when I didn’t.’
‘You were in that cavern. I saw you.’
‘I don’t know who you saw, but it wasn’t me.’
‘Where did you get that Queen’s Diamond Jubilee tin from?’
‘I found it in the tunnel on the way back to the Waterbury.’
He didn’t pursue it. If she denied it, what could he do? In the end, it was his word against hers. Not that he was planning on telling anyone. He’d have to give her the benefit of the doubt. She must have had a valid reason, and he could understand her not wanting to admit she’d committed murder to a senior officer.
He sat back and locked his fingers together behind his head. ‘We’ll leave it like that then.’
He noticed her smiling too late.
Her hand disappeared into the pocket of his jacket that was hung on the peg behind the door. It reappeared with his keys.
‘I won’t go far,’ she said, slipping through the door.
He could have chased her along the corridor, rugby tackled her from behind and taken his keys back, but he had confidence that she was a good driver and he’d get his car back in one piece.
***
The door to Chief’s office was slightly ajar. He stuck his head through the gap.
‘Oh!’ He was genuinely shocked. He’d expected to see DCI Joanna Blake in the high-backed leather chair, but instead Walter Bellmarsh was sitting there as if he’d never been promoted.
Admittedly, he’d been on unpaid paternity leave, so wasn’t up to speed with the comings and goings at the station. Being a father was a full-time job. Apparently, it had been his turn to look after the twins.
Lucy had, as usual, laid her cards on the table. ‘They’re your fucking kids, you look after them.’
She was right, of course, they were his children. Lucy – through no fault of her own – had been picking up the slack.
Duffy had been in hospital, and was now laid up in bed. The doctors had made the decision to do a caesarean section seeing as they’d had to open her up to repair the damage the knife had caused to her and the baby anyway. Even though Máire was about six weeks premature, the doctors had allowed Duffy to bring her home – she was beautiful. She did have a scar on her left arm where the knife had cut her, but it would disappear – more-or-less – as she grew. As soon as Duffy sug
gested Máire as his daughter’s name he’d said, ‘Perfect’, and that was it.
As well as being heavily pregnant, Ruth was sulking because Duffy had given birth first. Also, her ankles kept swelling up because of water retention, and the midwife had told her to keep her feet raised whenever possible.
The other problem, of course, was Lucy’s broken right hand being in plaster, so she couldn’t get it wet. So, not only did he have to bath the twins, he also had to bath Lucy.
‘What’s up, Quigg? Disappointed that DCI Blake isn’t here?’
‘Surprised that you are, Chief.’
‘Shut the door.’
He did as requested and sat down in an easy chair.
‘They decided that I wasn’t a team player. Me? Can you believe that, Quigg?’
‘No, I can’t believe that, Chief. I’m fully aware that you support Fulham Football team.’
‘Well, that’s what they said.’
‘I think “flabbergasted” is the word I’m looking for, Chief. A man of your stature, far-sighted wisdom, political nous . . .’
‘You can stop now.’
He smiled.
‘They said I’d let the side down.’
‘I thought we were all on the same side.’
‘You know nothing, Quigg.’
‘Clearly.’
‘With each promotion you have to change sides.’
‘Really? I didn’t know that.’
‘That’s why nobody likes or trusts you.’
‘Don’t they? Is this something to do with the chart that I’m sitting at the bottom of?’
‘You know about that?’
‘I’m surprised that you know about it and I don’t.’
‘I know everything that’s happening in this station, Quigg.’
‘Yes, I should have remembered. Any coffee going, Sir?’
‘Stick your head out of door and ask Cheryl . . .’
‘I think the strychnine is starting to have an effect on me. I’ve started to notice hairs growing on the palms of my hands.’ He stuck his head out of the door, but Cheryl wasn’t there. ‘Missing in action, Chief. I’ll go without.’