Body 13 (Quigg Book 2)

by Tim Ellis

  Jim’s ‘get up and go’ impressed Quigg. How did men do that? Quigg would have had butterflies for a week, practised what he needed to say, written it down in an attempt to memorise it, tossed and turned in bed at nights, sweated for England, and in the end decided that probably the woman was too good for him. But Jim simply came right out with it.

  They finished the meal in silence, then Jim said, ‘Thanks for the food, Inspector. I’ll meet you here at... say… three o’clock tomorrow?’

  ‘Look forward to it, Jim,’ Quigg said. They were obviously bosom pals now.

  Once Jim was out of earshot, Quigg said, ‘You missed the opportunity to get your hooks into a doctor there, Duffy.’

  Duffy raised her eyebrows. ‘Hooks? What does that mean, Sir?’

  ‘Well, you know, doctors have loads of money, career prospects, hold intelligent conversations and so forth. You could have been set for life if you’d played your cards right.’

  ‘Don’t I mean anything to you, Sir?’

  ‘Of course you do, Duffy.’

  ‘Then stop trying to fix me up with the first man that comes along. I opened my heart up to you and all you can do is joke about it.’

  ‘If you’re going to be a detective Duffy, you’ll need to be a student of human nature. Humour is a defence mechanism that I use to hide behind. If you peek over that defensive wall, you’ll find some feelings, a large collection of fears and phobias, and an old cardboard box full of repressed emotions.’

  ‘So you do have feelings for me?’

  ‘Did I say that, Duffy?’

  ‘In as many words.’

  ‘While I’m here, I’m going to go up and see Dr Poulson. You go and wait in the car. I’ll be about half an hour, and then we’re going to see Surfer Bob again.’

  ‘Surfer Bob? Why?’

  ‘Sir Arthur Maltravers. If we go through official channels we’ll find nothing of any value. Let’s see what Surfer Bob can uncover about our pillar of the community.’

  ***

  Mr Poulson was sitting in the visitor’s chair that Quigg thought of as his. Debbie looked pale. She had been in a coma for a week now. How long before she woke up? Would she blame him?

  He wasn’t going to be able to talk to Debbie if Mr Poulson was staying.

  ‘Have you found the person who did this to my daughter, Inspector?’

  ‘The man who shot Debbie was merely a messenger. He is dead, but I am still pursuing the people responsible.’

  ‘Do you know who they are?’

  ‘I have an idea.’

  ‘What’s stopping you from arresting them?’

  ‘A little thing called evidence. That’s what I’m doing at the moment - acquiring evidence to put these people away for a very long time.’

  ‘Do you think Debbie will wake up, Inspector?’

  ‘I’ve been told that there’s every possibility she will, Mr Poulson.’

  ‘I’ve been coming here for a week now. Each day it’s the same, no change. Maybe she’d be better off dead.’

  Quigg put his right hand gently on Mr Poulson’s shoulder. ‘You don’t believe that. You’re tired. Things are getting on top of you. Would you like to speak to a counsellor?’

  ‘No, I’ll be fine. I’m just a bit tired that’s all. I’ll go for a coffee while you talk to her.’

  Quigg looked surprised.

  ‘I was standing out here one night listening. Sorry, I didn’t mean to, but I thought it was a good thing for you to do. You seem like a decent bloke. I hope she wakes up and you two make a go of it.’

  ‘Thanks, Mr Poulson.’

  ‘Call me Reg. I feel as though I’m at the Job Centre when you call me Mr Poulson.’

  ‘Is there anything I can do for you? Anything you need?’

  ‘No thanks, Inspector…’

  ‘Quigg.’

  ‘That’s a funny first name? Anyway, I’m staying at Debbie’s flat. I have my pension and disability allowance. I’m fine, but thanks very much for asking.’ He stood up and hobbled out of the door with his walking stick. ‘See you another time, Quigg.’

  ‘By then, let’s hope she’ll be awake, Reg.’

  ‘Let’s hope.’

  Quigg leaned down and kissed Debbie on the cheek. ‘Hi, Debbie. I suppose you heard that? Your dad seems OK, and we appear to be friends now. How have you been? I think you’ve probably had enough of a rest by now. You need to be thinking about waking up. There are people out here who care for you. While you’re on holiday, we’re all hanging about waiting for you. I hope you’re not somewhere hot, lying on a beach in a skimpy bikini without me.’

  ‘So, what’s been happening? Not to you, but to me. I got shot last night, but don’t worry - I was wearing a bullet-proof vest. The bullet hit me in the lower back, hurts like hell. You remember I mentioned Ruth Lynch, the journalist. Well, she phoned me up last night saying there was a man trying to kill her. I went round to her flat in Duffy’s car and they tried to kill both of us. We had to escape and hide out in a hotel overnight. Duffy’s car got shot to pieces - gonna cost a bag of sand to get it fixed - but the Chief says he’ll pay for it. A bag of sand is a grand by the way. I’m learning some cockney slang on this case. Oh yeah, the Chief seems to be my new best friend. Don’t ask me why, Debbie. I’ll have that discussion with you when you wake up. Remember I mentioned about buses coming along all at once? Well, there’s been a convoy of them recently.’

  ‘I bet you’re thinking it’s the evening because I’m here. No, it’s ten to one in the afternoon. I’ve just had lunch with Jim… Dewsbury. Needed him to give me more information on the two eight year old girls. They’re not local, and probably not English. I think I’ve stumbled on a paedophile ring that is trafficking in children. I also think I’ve got a name for Body 13. What about Sir Arthur Maltravers? How did I find it? Yeah, I was telling you about Poe’s The Purloined Letter being hidden in plain sight. We looked in the obituaries and there he was - died in a house fire Monday, the day after Mugabe Terrace. I figured that if Body 13 was someone well known, they couldn’t just disappear. I’ve still got to find evidence to back up my idea, but I know I’m right.’

  ‘These grapes are nice, Debbie,’ Quigg said. ‘I don’t know who bought them for you, but you should wake up and have some before I finish them off.’

  ‘Unfortunately, it’s a flying visit. I’ve got Duffy with me and we’re in a pool car. We’re on our way to see Surfer Bob – don’t ask. I meet some weird people in my job, and most of them want to kill me. Anyway, you’re looking great. All you need to do is wake up and smell the coffee.’ He leaned over and kissed her on the lips. ‘A special kiss for a special lady.’

  ***

  ‘Right, Duffy -’ Quigg said as he opened the door of the Ford Fiesta, ‘let’s go and annoy Surfer Bob.’

  She turned the ignition, put the car into reverse and pulled out. ‘How’s Dr Poulson, Sir?’

  ‘Still in a coma, I’m afraid. But thanks for asking.’

  ‘What are you going to do if she wakes up, Sir?’

  ‘When, Duffy, not if. What do you mean, what am I going to do?’

  ‘You were meant to be a couple before she got shot. What happens to us when she wakes up?’

  ‘Let’s cross that tightrope when we get there, Duffy. I’m too busy thinking about the case at the moment - which is what you should be doing. Put your heart away and stay focused.’

  Duffy drove without speaking for ten minutes, then she said, ‘What do you want to eat tonight, Sir?’

  ‘I’ve got something to do tonight, Duffy.’

  ‘You’re going to see her, aren’t you?’

  ‘You don’t want to go there, Duffy.’

  She said nothing further, but pressed her lips together and drove like a maniac. Quigg gripped the door handle, pressed his feet into the floor, and forced himself back into the seat. He realised that a green-eyed monster had been unleashed. What was he going to do with it, that was the question? If he ended their f
ledgling relationship, Duffy would be impossible to work with. He would also have to end their working relationship. Could he do that to her? She had been there for him when he needed a place to rest his head. She had given herself to him. It was hardly her fault she had fallen for him. He was a loveable guy. Maybe he could compromise and go back to her flat after he’d seen Ruth was OK. ‘I’ll be back late tonight, Duffy - probably around ten.’

  She forced a smile. ‘OK, Sir.’

  They arrived at Surfer Bob’s unexceptional house in Fulham. Quigg was glad to get there alive. If he was being truthful, he had been more scared today as Duffy’s passenger than he was last night being pursued by a gun-toting killer. He climbed out of the car and saw a funeral procession slowly pass the end of the cul de sac heading towards the cemetery.

  ‘Are you coming, Duffy?’

  ‘I’ll stay here, Sir.’

  ‘Suit yourself.’ He headed towards the front door and pressed the bell.

  ‘This is not your house, Quigg.’

  ‘Hello, Bob.’

  Bolts clanged, the door clicked open and the trapdoor slid across. He walked down the steps.

  ‘You’re treading a fine line between friendship and being a pain in the ass, Quigg.’

  ‘I know, Bob. The last time, I promise - maybe.’

  ‘What the hell’s a ‘maybe promise’?’

  ‘One that I’ll try and keep, but breaking promises comes easy to me when I’m pursuing criminals.’

  ‘OK, Quigg - what do you want? And where’s that generously-proportioned partner of yours?’

  ‘Sir Arthur Maltravers, and Duffy’s waiting in the car outside. We’ve had a domestic.’

  ‘Never heard of him, and I’d like you to bring Duffy down here tomorrow; she brightens the place up. You could also ask her if she’d mind wearing a short…’

  ‘You’ve got no chance, Bob. I think Maltravers is a paedophile and a member of a group called the Apostles who are involved in child trafficking. I’d be grateful for your assistance in proving such wrongdoings.’

  ‘Shame about Duffy, Quigg. So, all the burrowing I did for you into the MOD computers was a waste of time?’

  ‘Needed to be done, Bob. What I’m asking you to do now is going to save children.’

  ‘I’m persuaded already.’ He began inputting code. Windows, one after the other, sprang open on the screens filled with scrolling data. ‘You’re not planning to stay and watch me, are you? As you know yourself, investigating someone’s footprint takes time.’

  ‘Tomorrow morning?’

  ‘Late morning - about eleven, not before.’

  Thanks, Bob. I owe you.’

  ‘Yes, Quigg, you certainly do.’

  When he got back to the car Duffy had obviously thought things through and decided that jealousy and tears were unlikely to achieve anything.

  ‘Did you get what you needed, Sir?’ She smiled, her eyes sparkled and she smelled of freshly applied perfume.

  ‘Got to come back tomorrow at eleven. He wants you to come with me. I think he’s smitten because he asked if you’d wear something sexy.’

  ‘Did you…?’

  ‘No, Duffy. I didn’t tell him we were an item.’

  ‘Are we still an item, Sir?’

  ‘Yes, Duffy. We’re still an item, but I don’t want to see that green monster anymore; it gives me nightmares.’

  She grinned. ‘You won’t, Sir. I’ll be a good girl from now on.’

  She kept promising to be a good girl. He had no idea what a good girl was, but it sounded erotic. ‘I look forward to trying one of those, Duffy.’

  It was quarter past three when they set off back to the station. Duffy drove like a normal person, and Quigg dozed off. He woke up with an erection when Duffy switched the engine off. He couldn’t remember what he’d been dreaming about, but he needed the toilet.

  ‘Incident room, Sir?’

  Quigg checked his watch – twenty to four. ‘Before that, and in the following order, I’m going to the toilet, to vice to see DI Peters, and then back to my office. What I’d like you to do, in no particular order, is make me a mug of coffee and then find a firm of independent insurance assessors that I can ring.’

  ‘Can I sit in your chair, Sir?’

  ‘You can sit in my executive chair, Duffy.’

  ***

  Gwen Peters didn’t look up from the mound of paperwork when he entered her office and shut the door. She didn’t invite him to sit down either, but he slid into a chair anyway because his back was throbbing enough to make him feel as though the bullet had pierced the skin and hidden itself in a vital organ.

  ‘What do you want, slimeball?’

  He had barely exchanged two words with Gwen since his refusal to sleep with her a year ago. ‘That’s no way to talk to a colleague, Gwen.’

  ‘I hear you’re sleeping around like a whore.’

  DI Gwen Peters had long dark hair, brown eyes and a sensuous mouth. Today she wore a black trouser suit with a white blouse underneath the jacket. Her cleavage attracted his eyes like a vortex.

  ‘I didn’t come here to rake over the past, Gwen. At the time, I was going through a messy separation. If you asked me now…’

  ‘There’s more chance of me becoming Chief Constable, or of winning the lottery, or of Brad Pitt ringing me up for a date, or…’

  ‘I get the picture, Gwen.’

  ‘Good… You really hurt me, you know?’

  ‘It was unintentional, believe me. Anyway, you’re seeing Pratchett from traffic now, aren’t you?’

  ‘He’s a slug. What do you want, Quigg?’

  He thought she’d never ask. ‘You know about Body 13?’

  ‘I’m up to speed on the case. The Chief has been copying your emails to me. You’re making hard work of it.’

  ‘So, you know about the Apostles?’

  ‘I know what you’ve written, but I’ve never heard of them in connection with a paedophile ring or child trafficking. If I had, I would have given you the information. I don’t confuse my personal feelings with catching criminals.’

  Quigg stood up. ‘Thanks, Gwen.’

  ‘You said if I asked you now… If I did, you’d better say yes, or I’d have to take a contract out on you.’

  ‘I think the Apostles have already beaten you to the contract. I was shot in the back last night.’

  ‘You obviously had a vest on?’

  ‘I wouldn’t be standing here saying yes to you if I hadn’t worn one.’

  ‘I’ll see how I feel, Quigg. I might give myself an early Christmas present. If I do, you’d better be wrapped up ready to surprise me.’

  ‘I’m full of surprises at the moment, Gwen.’ He opened the door and left. He’d been meaning to build bridges with Gwen for a long time, but didn’t know how to go about it.

  ***

  He was sitting in the hardback chair in his office again while Duffy swivelled in his executive chair.

  She pushed the mug of coffee and a piece of paper towards him.

  He took a slurp of coffee and read what she’d written on the paper: Piper Assessors 020 8444 9090. ‘Well done, Duffy.’ He checked his watch – one minute to four. No time to ring the assessors now, but if he left it until after the briefing they’d probably not be there. It was important to get the ball rolling on the claim otherwise Mum and he would be sleeping on benches in the park. ‘Go and tell Walsh and Martin I’ll be five minutes late. I need to ring these people before they go home.’

  Duffy squeezed past him, brushing her breasts across his face. She was obviously employing her ‘good girl’ strategy.

  ‘Thanks for that, Duffy.’

  ‘Just a taste of what’s to come, Sir.’

  She went from one extreme to the other, he thought. He’d have to talk to her about the need to separate work from pleasure. She was new to the job, but still; he was trying to catch criminals and her constant references to pleasure made it hard for him to concentrate on catching the cri
minals.

  He rang the number on the paper.

  ‘Piper Assessors. How can I help?’ A female voice said.

  ‘There was a fire in my mother’s house and I’d like someone to act on our behalf.’

  ‘Just one moment, Sir.’

  Classical music replaced the female voice for a short time, then, ‘Peter Rogers. How can I help?’

  Quigg repeated what he’d said to the female voice.

  ‘Are you the policyholder, Sir?’

  ‘No, my mother is.’

  ‘We only accept instructions from the policyholder.’

  ‘My mother is eighty years old and she is happy for me to instruct you on her behalf. Do I need a note from my mum, or are you willing to trust the word of a detective inspector in the police force?’ His voice had taken on an edge.

  ‘Your name, Sir?’

  ‘Detective Inspector Quigg.’

  ‘The name of the policyholder?’

  ‘Beryl Quigg.’

  ‘The policy number?’

  ‘Sorry, I don’t have that. The policy was destroyed in the fire.’

  ‘Address?’

  ‘5, Boleyn Gardens, Upton Park, London E6 1PQ.’

  ‘I’ll need the signature of the policyholder.’

  ‘My mother is staying at a friend’s house; could you send someone over there with the paperwork?’

  ‘Address?’

  ’23, Holme Road, E6 2DH.’

  ‘We’ll send someone round tomorrow. Are you going to be there as well, Inspector?’

  ‘Do I need to be?’

  ‘It will make things easier.’

  ‘What about one o’clock? I’m in the middle of a murder investigation, and I’ve got appointments at eleven and three o’clock.’

  ‘One o’clock would be fine.’

  ‘Good. Thank you, Mr Rogers.’

  ‘Thank you, Inspector.’

  He walked along to the incident room. Along the way, people he’d never known smiled, said hi, wished him luck with the investigation, and one person offered him a lemon sherbet, which he took, but wished he hadn’t because he couldn’t eat it fast enough before he got into the incident room. He took it out and hid it in a corner of one of the upturned tables just inside the door.