Body 13 (Quigg Book 2)

by Tim Ellis

  ‘Fostered? Adopted?’ Duffy chipped in.

  ‘Might explain the sexual abuse. In which case they’d be on the Child Protection Register and you’d have heard from social services by now.’

  He’d have to widen the investigation to incorporate the other occupants of Mugabe Terrace – a process of elimination. Pin down where everyone lived. Yes, that’s what he’d been doing, but only to identify Body 13. Now he needed to identify two young girls and place them somewhere in the building. He could interview the firemen or maybe speed the process up by asking them to record the number of bodies they’d seen in each room on a plan of the block of flats. He could also put out a call on local TV and radio asking for relatives of the people who died in the fire to come forward with information on which flat their loved ones had lived in. He’d arrange to question local residents, shopkeepers, the mailman and the local newsagents.

  ‘Thanks for this information, Doctor…’

  ‘Jim.’

  ‘Yeah, Jim, thanks. I’d been wondering where to take the investigation next and now you’ve possibly given me a major piece of the jigsaw.’

  ‘Glad to be of service. It’d help my career if you could write a letter to that effect to the chief executive. Letters of thanks look good on your personnel file.’

  Quigg didn’t have any letters of thanks on his personnel file. Criminals didn’t write letters to the Chief saying how grateful they were that Quigg had caught them and locked them up. ‘Be happy to, Jim - make a note, Duffy.’

  Jim Dewsbury’s pager activated. ‘Sorry, I have to go.’ He shook hands with Quigg and Duffy then left.

  ‘Right, Duffy, I’ve got a lunch date at twelve thirty with an informant, and you can’t come. You can drive me to Moorgate tube station and then pick me up at four o’clock and take me home. Are you OK doing that?’

  ‘I suppose so, Sir.’

  ‘What’s that meant to mean, Duffy?’

  ‘Well, I feel a bit like a taxi driver today.’

  ‘You’re my partner, Duffy. I have to be able to rely on my partner. My car’s broke and I need to get places. Can I rely on you?’

  ‘You can rely on me, Sir.’

  ‘Good. I was beginning to think you didn’t want to be a detective anymore.’

  ‘You don’t have to keep bringing that up, Sir. I like being your partner.’

  ‘You’re not half bad yourself, Duffy.’

  ***

  Duffy dropped him off at Moorgate station. He walked down Moorfields, darted up Union Street and jogged the wrong way down Ropemaker Street, just to make sure he wasn’t being followed.

  It was twelve twenty-five when he eventually opened the door to the Cuban Restaurant. A live band played smooth Cuban jazz. Not that he was in any way an expert, but he did know the difference between American and Cuban jazz. The music was slightly loud, but if they sat at a table far enough away, he could live with it.

  Ruth Lynch-Guevara was standing at the bar near the door talking easily with a wrinkled, leather-skinned man wearing a colourful shirt that hurt Quigg’s eyes. Her natural black ringlets had been secured at the back of her neck with a large wooden comb and she wore jeans and a white lace top that matched her smile.

  ‘You came?’

  ‘You invited me.’

  ‘Still… I wondered whether you would come.’

  ‘I was hungry.’

  She laughed. ‘A beer?’

  ‘Please.’

  She spoke, in what Quigg assumed was Cuban, to the wrinkled man who bent down then reappeared with a bottle of Cubanero Fuerte. She poured the beer into a tall glass and passed it to him.

  ‘You have continued with the war, I see,’ she said.

  ‘A minor skirmish - nothing more.’

  ‘Let me help you.’

  He wondered whether she had the idea that, because of his injuries, he needed assistance walking to the table, or if she was offering her help with the case. ‘We can discuss it over food.’

  ‘Come.’ She picked up a tall glass half full with a purple-coloured liquid, took his arm and led him to a secluded booth at the rear of the restaurant.

  Even through his duffel coat, he felt the heat of her. They were sitting either side of a table, but he knew that a mere table would not stop the feelings he had for her. She passed him the menu, but his heart thundered in his head and he struggled to read the words.

  ‘What do you recommend?’ he asked her.

  ‘As a starter, we can have cheese buñuelos.’ She looked at him as if seeking approval for her choice, but he had no idea what buñuelos were.

  He took a swig of beer and smiled.

  ‘For the main meal, we should have ropa vieja. It is an authentic Cuban dish of shredded flank steak in a tomato sauce with black beans, yellow rice, desert bananas and fried yuca with beer.’

  ‘Sounds wonderful.’ He thought it sounded disgusting. It certainly wasn’t his mum’s roast beef and Yorkshire pudding with all the trimmings.

  She put her hand on his. ‘I thought we were not telling each other the little white lies?’

  He was a philistine. ‘The ropa vieja sounds disgustingly yuca. Do they serve English food?’

  ‘Of course. What about the Cuban burger with salad and hand cut chips?’

  ‘Excellent,’ he said.

  She signalled a waitress. Speaking Cuban, she ordered their food. ‘You must also taste the spiced fruit skewers, so I have ordered some of those.’

  ‘I can’t wait.’

  ‘How is your search for Body 13 going, Quigg?’

  ‘Great.’

  ‘You are a terrible liar. A woman could live with you happily; your lies are scribbled on your face.’

  He didn’t know whether it was a compliment or not, but he said, ‘Thank you.’

  ‘Tell me the truth, Quigg, or I will not give you the corner piece for the jigsaw.’

  He told her everything they had found out about Body 13, which wasn’t a lot. He didn’t tell her about the two children just yet. He was eager to discover what she knew because he needed a corner piece, something to make everything else make sense. At the moment, nothing made sense.

  ‘Have you heard of the Apostles?’

  ‘Jesus had twelve of them.’

  ‘These Apostles live in London.’

  ‘I hadn’t heard they’d moved from Jerusalem.’

  She smiled. ‘What I have discovered is that there are twelve of these Apostles. When one dies, he is replaced with someone else who is found to be suitable.’

  ‘Discovered? How?’

  ‘A word here, a word there. Nothing concrete. I have put together pieces of conversations.’

  ‘Suitable for what?’

  ‘I do not know.’

  ‘They are all male then?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Do these Apostles spread the word of God like the original ones?’

  ‘Not that I have heard.’

  He smiled at the unintentional joke. ‘What do they do then?’

  ‘I do not know. What I do know is that one of them died in the fire at Mugabe Terrace.’

  ‘Body 13?’

  Ruth shrugged. ‘I do not know, but it makes sense.’

  Wheels, cogs and springs began to whirr and clank inside his head. ‘They’re behind everything that’s been happening, aren’t they?’

  ‘I have no idea, but it seems possible.’

  ‘Who are they?’

  ‘I do not know.’

  ‘Well, it’s definitely a corner piece of the jigsaw,’ he said, ‘if it’s relevant.’

  ‘What do you mean, "if it is relevant"?’

  ‘Well, it’s all speculation on your part really, isn’t it? I mean, you come up with a group calling themselves the Apostles who might or might not exist and tell me that one of them died at Mugabe Terrace. We add two and two together and make Body 13. Have you got any evidence that such a group exist at all?’

  ‘No, but we…’

  ‘If we spe
culate that they do exist, have you any evidence that one of them died at Mugabe Terrace?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘That Body 13 is an Apostle?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘That they’re behind either of the explosions, the shootings or the attack on me?’

  She crossed her arms, pressed her lips together and knitted her eyebrows. ‘No.’

  ‘Then we’re no further forward, are we?’

  The waitress arrived with the cheese buñuelos. They were the shape and size of golf balls. He picked one up and took an exploratory bite. Surprised, he said, ‘It’s a cheese fritter.’

  Her anger had passed. ‘They are made from white cheese, cornstarch, brown sugar and eggs.’

  He was enjoying them. ‘Very nice,’ he said, after the third one.

  ‘So, you will not investigate these Apostles then?’

  ‘I didn’t say that.’

  ‘But you said…’

  ‘I said you had no evidence, Ruth…’

  She touched his hand. His heart missed a beat. ‘I like it when you speak my name. The R sounds like a W.’

  He tried to keep his mind on the topic of conversation. ‘…Without evidence, the wheels of justice cannot turn. Speculation is only useful if it’s supported by evidence.’

  ‘Then that is what we must do; we must find the evidence against these people.’

  ‘Evidence of what?’ His mind started to whirr and clank again. If he added two children to this obscure group calling themselves the Apostles, then he could begin to speculate himself.

  The waitress took the empty plate away, brought him another beer – he wasn’t driving, what the hell – and came back with the main meal. Ruth had ordered the ropa vieja for herself, but he was happy with his burger and chips.

  She put some of the shredded beef and yuca on her fork and offered it to him. ‘Try,’ she said.

  He dutifully tried the offering and then pulled a face at the strange taste in his mouth. ‘I’ll stick with the burger and chips, thank you.’

  ‘At least you can say you had some Cuban food today, even if you did not like it.’

  He decided that he would tell her about what Jim Dewsbury had found. ‘This morning I learned that two of the four children that died in the fire were not related to any of the other bodies.’

  She stopped eating. ‘You have already worked it out, have you not, Quigg?’

  ‘Have I?’ He took a bite of his burger then wiped the ketchup off his top lip with the cloth napkin from the table.

  ‘The children could be related to Body 13,’ she said, ‘but I do not think so. These Apostles knew we would find out about the children, that we would place them in the room with Body 13. They have taken the body so that we cannot find out who he was.’

  ‘I should have speculated with you before now, Ruth Lynch.’ Quigg realised that she had a keen investigative mind, had joined the pieces of the jigsaw together to form a partial picture. Now, together, they needed to complete the picture.

  ‘After the meal, we could speculate some more in my flat, if you wish, Quigg?’

  He could ring Duffy, tell her not to bother with the lift. What he wouldn’t do to be able to speculate the night away with this beautiful, dangerous Cuban woman. He knew it was not the right thing to do. Debbie would recover, then what would he do? Lie to her? No, he had to remain faithful, even if it was to a woman that he had been on half a date with and who now lay in a coma.

  ‘Sadly, my partner is coming for me at four o’clock. We have somewhere else to go. Maybe next time.’ He wondered if she saw the lie scribbled on his face. If she did, she kept it to herself.

  ‘There will be a next time, Quigg.’ She said as if she had seen the future in his eyes.

  ‘Tomorrow we have to start finding evidence.’

  ‘We, Quigg?’

  ‘You want an exclusive on the story, you have to work for it. You’re on my team now.’

  ‘I will like being on your team, Quigg.’ She said it as if he had asked her to go to bed with him.

  He looked at his watch – it was three fifteen already. Ruth Lynch demonstrated all the properties of a black hole. He was a speck of light teetering on the edge of her universe; the longer he stayed with her, the more chance he had of being sucked into that universe, to lose himself in her beauty.

  The waitress brought the spiced fruit skewers. He asked her for another beer. Like a man in a dream, he ate the skewers one after another until he had eaten them all. They tasted like nectar from the gods.

  ‘What do you want me to do, Quigg?’

  ‘Investigate these Apostles. Do what you have been trained to do. I will find out about the children.’ He reached out and took her hands in his before he knew what he was doing. ‘Be careful Ruth Lynch. If these men are behind all of these events, then they have murdered five people and tried to kill me. If they know you are investigating them, they will kill you. A life means nothing to them. They have had me followed and they appear to know what I know. We must not meet again until we can bring them to justice. We will keep in contact by phone.’

  ‘Maybe they are listening to your phone calls.’

  ‘Then I will get a new phone that only you will know the number of.’

  She squeezed his hands back. ‘I already like being in your team, Quigg.’ When he tried to pull his hands back, they felt like they were welded to hers.

  ‘I have to go now. I have no money. Come with me and buy me a phone that I can use.’

  They stood up, still holding hands. Then she released him, but linked her arm through his as they walked out of the restaurant without paying. ‘I will come back and settle my account,’ she said.

  ‘It’s Sunday - I hope we can find somewhere.’

  She directed him left out of the restaurant. ‘I know a place.’

  Within minutes they had reached a shop that sold everything from London bus badges to satellite aerials. Ruth went in first and spoke Cuban to the man behind the counter. Quigg thought they must be in the Cuban quarter, or something. The young man, who didn’t particularly look Cuban, turned and pulled a box from a shelf behind him. He opened the box, put the SIM card in the phone, switched it on and made a call. Ruth pulled her phone out and keyed in the new number. She then phoned the new phone, answered the call and saved her number in the contact book.

  ‘Here, Quigg,’ she said, passing him the phone and the charger. ‘A new phone that only you and I know about. It has unlimited calls.’

  ‘I hope it’s legal.’

  ‘If only you and I know about it, what does it matter? We will be like lovers talking into the wind.’

  Quigg put the phone in his pocket. The clock on the wall behind the counter indicated five minutes to four. ‘I have to go,’ he said.

  She took his arm and they walked out without paying again. Once outside, she kissed him on the cheek and said, ‘I will phone you soon, Quigg.’ He thought he was going to burn up from the heat of her, but then she turned and walked back into the shop and he felt as though he were standing in the desolate Siberian wastes.

  He retraced his steps to Moorgate station. Duffy was sitting in her green MGB waiting for him.

  ‘Not been waiting long, have you, Duffy?’ he said as he opened the door and scrambled in.

  She turned the ignition. ‘Five minutes, Sir, but I’ve been propositioned twice.’

  ‘I take it you didn’t accept either of them? Upton Park then.’

  ‘Was your informer of any use, Sir?’

  ‘What did you make of what Dr Dewsbury told us about the two children?’

  ‘I didn’t make anything of it, Sir. Was I meant to?’

  ‘Well, have a think about it, Duffy. Why were two young girls - who were unrelated to anyone else in the building - in there in the early hours of the morning?’

  ‘I heard you suggest they might be visiting friends. They could have been there on a sleepover, be adopted or fostered, as you said, but I can’t think of any other
reason.’

  ‘My informant was very useful, Duffy. We have a new direction. She identified a group called the Apostles and suggested that Body 13 was one of these Apostles. Now what do you make of it?’

  ‘You’re not saying…?’

  ‘I am, Duffy.’

  ‘That’s disgusting. So, Body 13 was stolen because they didn’t want him connected to the two children who died?’

  ‘There you are, Duffy - a detective at last.’

  Duffy turned to him and grinned.

  ‘Keep your eyes on the road, Duffy. I’d like to live a long and fruitful life.’

  ‘Sorry, Sir. So, it’s all been about a paedophile?’

  ‘Has it, Duffy?’

  ‘Well, that’s what you’ve been saying.’

  ‘Have I, Duffy? What’s missing?’

  Duffy went quiet.

  Quigg leaned back and closed his eyes. After four beers he felt a bit light-headed, but in a pleasant sort of way. When he got home he’d have a Sunday afternoon nap for a couple of hours before he went to visit Debbie. Yes, things were going well. He’d have something to report to the Chief Constable now, thanks to Ruth Lynch. He’d keep her name out of everything; make sure she was kept safe. If he’d known how dangerous this case was going to be, he’d never have asked Debbie out. So, a fucking paedophile ring. Early days yet, but now he knew what he was dealing with. He’d have to make sure he got all of the filthy bastards.

  He opened his eyes as Duffy came to a stop, and said, ‘I hope you don’t live there, Sir?’

  Nos. 3, 5 and 7 Boleyn Gardens were lighting up the night sky like a bonfire on 5th November. The trouble was it was 30th of the month. The fire had obviously started in No. 5, because the middle house was engulfed in flames. Five fire teams directed hoses at the burning buildings. A crowd had gathered and were standing behind a red tape.

  Quigg pushed himself out of the car. ‘Oh, God… Mum?’ he cried.

  He ran towards the conflagration at No. 5, but Duffy managed to stop him. ‘Sir, there’s nothing you can do.’

  Chapter Fourteen

  All of the Apostles were there except Phillip.

  James stood up at exactly eight o’clock and raised his glass. The others joined him and followed his lead. ‘To absent friends,’ James said. They repeated his words, drank and sat down again.