Body 13 (Quigg Book 2)

by Tim Ellis

  ‘I want very much, Duffy, but I’ll be late again.’

  ‘That’s OK, Sir - I’ll wait for you.’

  ‘I’ll be back as soon as I can.’

  ‘I know you will, Sir.’

  ***

  Duffy pulled up outside 23, Holme Road. It was still drizzling and the sky was a slate grey.

  ‘Do you want me to wait here, Sir?’

  ‘No, Duffy, I want you to come in, but for God’s sake keep your coat on or my mum will think you’ve turned into a loose woman.’

  Duffy smiled, and Quigg thought the sunshine had peeked through the clouds.

  ‘What if she tells me to take it off?’

  ‘Tell her you’re cold.’

  ‘I’ll try, Sir.’

  It was exactly one o’clock when they walked up the path of Maggie Crenshaw’s terraced house. They had just seen Maggie let a middle-aged woman in.

  Duffy operated the brass knocker and the door opened immediately as if Maggie had been waiting behind it with her hand on the handle.

  ‘Quigg, come in out of the rain. And you’ve brought your girlfriend with you as well.’

  He ignored Maggie’s comment about Duffy. He knew that the more he protested, the worse the situation would become. ‘Thanks, Maggie, and thanks for looking after my mum.’

  ‘She’s my oldest friend, why wouldn’t I look after her? I’d do the same for any animal in pain.’

  ‘Is my mum in pain?’

  ‘Only the pain you cause her by not letting her see her granddaughter. But you already knew that, didn’t you?’

  ‘Was that the insurance assessor I saw come in?’

  ‘Your mum’s making her a cup of tea in the kitchen.’

  Quigg led the way through to the kitchen.

  ‘Is that you, Quigg?’

  ‘Hello, Mum.’

  ‘This is my son, the police inspector,’ Beryl said to the insurance assessor.

  ‘Mrs Lovecock,’ the woman said, extending her hand.

  ‘Quigg,’ he reciprocated, gripping the hand. ‘An unusual name.’

  ‘My parents had an unusual sense of humour: my first name is Randi.’

  ‘Mavourneen, I’m so glad Quigg brought you back. Take your coat off and sit down.’

  ‘I’ll keep my coat on, if it’s all the same to you; I’m a bit cold.’

  ‘Don’t be silly,’ Beryl swerved round Quigg and started unbuttoning Duffy’s coat. ‘You’ll soon warm up in here. Oh,’ she said when she saw what Duffy had on. ‘Are you going to a fancy dress party, love?’

  Duffy blushed.

  ‘She’s working undercover, Mum.’

  ‘What are you doing sending your girlfriend undercover as a prostitute, Quigg? I thought you were a decent boy.’

  ‘We haven’t got much time, Mum. Can we get on with what we’ve come for?’

  ‘That’s right, Quigg - change the subject when you don’t want to answer a question from your poor old mother.’

  He turned to Mrs Lovecock. ‘What are you planning to achieve today?’

  She opened her briefcase and extracted a file. ‘I’ve brought the letter of engagement, which your mother needs to sign. It’s very simple; our fee is five percent of the settlement figure, so it is in our interests to achieve a maximum settlement and to expedite the matter quickly.’ She put a handful of glossy brochures on the table. ‘These will tell you about our company, and explain the process we follow.’

  ‘As you can see, my mother is a miserable frail old woman and wants me to make decisions on her behalf. Is that alright with you?’

  ‘I heard that, Quigg. I’m not too frail and old to give you a clip round the ear.’

  Mrs Lovecock smiled. ‘I’ll simply make a note on the letter of engagement to that effect, obtain your signature and verify it.’

  ‘How long do you think the process will take?’ Quigg said.

  ‘Most claims are settled by the insurance companies within thirty days.’

  ‘And what about our new house?’ Beryl asked.

  ‘Until I examine the policy and assess the damage to your existing house, I can’t possibly say. I should have an answer to that question by Friday of next week.’

  Quigg had read the letter. Everything seemed to be in order. ‘Sign the letter, Mum.’

  ‘Are you sure, Quigg?’

  ‘I’m sure, Mum. Unless you want to retrain as a loss assessor?’

  Beryl signed the letter. Quigg also signed it underneath Beryl’s signature. Mrs Lovecock took the bottom copy and gave it to Beryl; the top copy she put in her briefcase. She stood to leave, shook hands with everybody, including Duffy, and repeated unnecessarily, ‘I’ll be in contact by next Friday.’ Maggie showed her to the door.

  ‘I suppose you’re going as well now, Quigg?’

  ‘Duffy and I have got another appointment, Mum.’

  Beryl put her hand on top of Duffy’s. ‘I hope you’re not selling my future daughter-in-law on the street to make ends meet, Quigg?’

  ‘Will you stop matchmaking, Mum? Come on, Duffy - get your coat on and let’s go. I’ve got a client lined up who’s willing to pay five hundred pounds for you.’

  Duffy grinned and put her coat on.

  ‘You’re a beast, Quigg,’ Beryl said.

  ‘I’ll come and see you tomorrow, Mum.’

  ‘You’ll come as well, Mavourneen?’ Beryl directed at Duffy.

  ‘I’ll bring Duffy if you want, Mum.’

  ‘Don’t dress her in prostitute’s clothes tomorrow, Quigg. That’s no way to treat the mother of my grandchildren.’

  ‘Come on, Duffy, before your waters burst and you have to lie down on the table between the bread bin and the biscuit tin to give birth.’

  Quigg leaned down and kissed his mother on the cheek. Duffy did as well. He thought how similar it all was to when he had first brought Caitlin to meet his mother - all part of a timeless mating ritual.

  They made their way out to the car.

  Once they had the heater on and were heading towards the hospital, Quigg said, ‘Don’t start taking what my mum says seriously, Duffy.’

  ‘I won’t, Sir. My nana is the same. She could get a job meddling in other people’s lives.’

  ***

  They arrived at the hospital at twenty past two and went directly up to the cafeteria. There were only the dregs of the lunchtime clientele still there. They queued and were served quickly. Quigg bought a plateful of shepherd’s pie with red cabbage, while Duffy had a mixture of red and green leaves with water. Quigg wondered how she didn’t shrivel up and blow away to Eastern Europe on the wind.

  ‘You don’t have to eat leaves for me, Duffy.’

  ‘I don’t, Sir. I eat salad because I like it.’

  ‘If my mum knew, she’d be feeding you all sorts of body-enhancing foods.’

  ‘What are you going to do about that list, Sir?’

  ‘Keep it folded up in my pocket for now, Duffy.’

  ‘But they could be doing things with other children. We need to stop them, Sir.’

  ‘Unfortunately, we’re police officers, not vigilantes. We have to operate within the rules.’

  ‘They don’t care about rules, Sir.’

  ‘I know, Duffy. That’s why I sometimes walk on the dark side, and why I was telling you about Vietnam. What I need to do is figure out how to get them.’

  ‘You won’t get them, Sir; they’re too powerful.’

  ‘Thanks for your vote of confidence, Duffy.’

  ‘It’s not about you, Sir - it’s about them. They’re the people who make the rules that we have to work within so that they can do whatever they want and not get caught.’

  ‘Very profound, Duffy. What are you like at cat-skinning?’

  Duffy’s brow furrowed.

  ‘If there are many ways to skin a cat, then we need to find the right one to skin our cat, and it may not be legal. Are you with me Duffy?’

  ‘One for all, and all for one.’

 
‘We can be musketeers, if you want, Duffy.’

  ‘Tonight, Sir.’

  Jim Dewsbury came into the cafeteria then carrying a manila folder, ordered a drink of juice from the counter and came and sat down.

  ‘Been here long?’

  ‘Long enough to have lunch, that’s all.’

  ‘Right, I haven’t got long,’ he said spreading out the contents of the folder on the table. ‘My freezers are overflowing down there.’

  ‘We’re listening,’ Quigg said.

  ‘I’ll try and keep this simple. There are mutations in the sequence of people’s genetic code that are shared by the inhabitants of a particular area. Males can be tested for both maternal and paternal DNA. Maternal testing uses mitochondrial DNA, while paternal testing uses DNA passed via the Y chromosome. Unfortunately, for girls we can only test for maternal lineage. What I can tell you is that the two girls were identical twins, and I’m surprised we didn’t spot that before. They had unique markers, which placed them in the R1b-L21 Haplogroup and located them in Central or Eastern Europe. They also fell within the SLC24A5 variation, which meant they were white, with brown eyes and dark hair.’

  ‘Could they have lived here, but been born in Central or Eastern Europe?’ Quigg asked.

  ‘How did I know you were going to ask that? Because I asked myself the same question. The answer is no. Genetics is all well and good, but what really pins people down to an area is food: what they eat. The two girls both had evidence of a high-grain diet. If they had lived here, their diet would have been high in animal fats - but there was no evidence of that.’

  ‘So, we can conclude they came from Central or Eastern Europe fairly recently?’

  ‘I would say so.’

  ‘Excellent, Jim. Thanks. Anything else?’

  ‘No, you’ve exhausted the science available to us. I would be more confident in court about the abuse, but we’re still only talking ninety-five percent. A good barrister could easily get a jury to ignore it.’

  Or a Queen’s Council who worked for the Crown Prosecution Service, Quigg thought.

  Jim put his papers together, stood, offered his hand and said goodbye.

  It was three forty and they were getting ready to head back to the station. Quigg’s mobile vibrated in his pocket.

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  ‘Quigg.’

  ‘You’ll never get away with it, Quigg.’

  ‘Caitlin, it’s good to hear from you after such a long time. How’s my daughter, what’s-her-name?’

  ‘Don’t play the innocent with me, Quigg. What have you done with her?’

  ‘I have no idea what you’re talking about.’

  ‘Tell me you’ve got Phoebe, Quigg.’ Her voice sounded desperate.’

  ‘I can’t tell you that, Caitlin. I haven’t.’

  ‘If you haven’t got her, who has?’

  ‘Calm down. Tell me what happened.’

  ‘She was in playschool. Two men in ski masks came in and took her. The staff called the police, but Phoebe was long gone. I thought it was you.’

  ‘You’re not thinking straight, Caitlin. I wouldn’t do something like that.’

  ‘No, that’s why I left.’

  Quigg had no idea what she meant by that and no time to think about it either. He knew who was responsible and what he had to do. ‘I have to go now, Caitlin. I’ll find her.’

  ‘It’s something to do with you isn’t it, Quigg? It’s your job. They’ve taken Phoebe to make you do something, haven’t they?’

  ‘I’ll call you later, Caitlin.’

  He put her number in his address book under ‘Caitlin’ and disconnected the call.

  ‘What’s wrong, Sir?’

  ‘They’ve taken my daughter, Phoebe. Ring Cheryl; get the address of Sir Peter Langham.’

  ‘Are you sure you want to do that, Sir?’

  ‘Do it, Duffy.’

  She phoned Cheryl and got the address.

  ‘Let’s go - I’ll drive.’ He put his hands out for the keys.

  His mind in turmoil, Quigg drove like a madman to Culross Street in Mayfair. It was Duffy’s turn to hold on tight. Would they really take his daughter? Who else could it be? It had to be them. They were trying to stop him.

  He parked on the pavement, left the driver’s door open and took the steps two at time. He knocked on the heavy blue painted door.

  A woman opened the door and Quigg barged past her down the hallway. ‘Where is he?’ he shouted at the woman.

  Just then, a man in a suit opened one of the doors.

  Quigg pounced on him, bowling him backward into a study. Bookcases lined the walls and Quigg held Sir Peter Langham against the bookcase opposite the door that had rare first editions of Fairies and Fusiliers by Robert Graves, which had cost Sir Peter £2,200, and a copy of The Meaning of Relativity by Albert Einstein at £3,000. He had read neither book, but liked to collect rare things.

  ‘Where is she?’ Quigg spat into Sir Peter’s face.

  ‘Detective Inspector Quigg, if I’m not mistaken,’ Sir Peter said with a smirk. ‘You do realise this outrage will cost you your job?’

  ‘Where have you taken my daughter, Langham? I know all about your dirty little paedophile ring. If anything happens to her, I’ll kill every last one of you.’

  ‘I have no idea what you’re talking about, Inspector.’

  ‘Come on, Sir,’ Duffy said, grasping Quigg’s arm. ‘He’s not going to tell you anything.’

  Quigg released Sir Peter and retraced his steps. A parking attendant was just about to write him a ticket when Quigg pushed him out of the way, got in the car and started the engine. Duffy had to run to get in the car before Quigg drove off. He pulled into the roadside round the corner, switched the engine off and put his head on the steering wheel.

  ‘You need to calm down, Sir.’

  ‘Thank you for that pearl of wisdom, Duffy.’

  ‘You can take it out on me if it makes you feel better, Sir.’

  ‘I’m sorry, Duffy.’

  ‘It’s OK, Sir. Didn’t Surfer Bob say that Palessot had real estate all over the world? Maybe he knows what they’ve got in England.’

  Quigg leaned across and kissed Duffy on the forehead. ‘Well done, Duffy.’ He took out his mobile phone.

  ‘Yep?’

  ‘Bob, its Quigg.’

  ‘Just because I said you couldn’t come here, doesn’t mean you can ring me now.’

  ‘They’ve taken my daughter, Bob.’

  ‘How can I help, Quigg?’

  ‘You said Palessot had real estate in England. Do you know where?’

  ‘Wait.’

  Quigg waited for what seemed like a week, but was only five minutes.

  ‘I’ve got a list, Quigg. There’re nineteen properties dotted all over England.’

  Quigg thought. ‘Which one is the nearest to London?’

  ‘There’s an estate in Cobham, Surrey.’

  ‘I’m going to drive there, Bob. Can you give me the postcode for my satnav?’

  ‘KT119HM.’

  ‘While I’m on my way, can you find out everything you can about the place so I’m not going in blind?’

  ‘I’m onto it. Ring me again when you get there.’

  ‘Thanks, Bob.’

  ‘We’re mates, aren’t we?’ The phone went dead.

  Quigg input the postcode into his satnav and the female voice said, ‘Take the second turning at the next roundabout.’ He followed her directions.

  ‘What are we going to do when we get there, Sir?’

  ‘Find Phoebe.’

  ‘Shouldn’t we call for back-up, Sir?’

  ‘We have no warrant, Duffy, and no hope of ever getting one. We’re walking on the dark side now.’

  ‘What if people live there, Sir? I mean, people with guns.’

  ‘I’ve got a gun, Duffy. It’s in the boot. I took it off the man who shot me the other night.’

  ‘We really are on the dark side, aren’t we, Sir
?’

  ‘Yes, Duffy.’

  ***

  ‘Why are you ringing me on my mobile, Bartholomew?’ James said.

  ‘I know it’s against the rules, but Quigg has just been here and attacked me. He knows, James. He knows about us.’

  ‘He may know something, Bartholomew, but he can’t prove anything. If he attacked you in your own home, I suggest you call the police. You could lodge a complaint. You no doubt know the procedure.’

  ‘What if he tells them what he knows?’

  ‘Bartholomew, you’re turning into a frightened old woman. If he does, we’ll sue him for slander. He can prove nothing. We have taken every precaution.’

  ‘Yes, you’re right, James. I’m being foolish. Quigg put the wind up me. I did say it might get unpredictable if we took his daughter, and I was proved right.’

  ‘Where is he now?’

  ‘I have no idea.’

  ‘We need to hobble him, Bartholomew. Phone the police; report him. They will put out an APB and arrest him, and that will give us time to transfer the goods from one place to another. Has he injured you?’

  ‘No, he just shook me up.’

  ‘Some blood would be convincing. And he must have been armed?’

  ‘I saw no gun.’

  ‘I think you did, Bartholomew, but the shock has given you temporary memory loss.’

  ‘But they’ll find no gun on him.’

  ‘He threw it away.’

  ‘Ah, yes - it’s coming back to me now, James.’

  ‘I knew it would, Bartholomew. So, we are clear on the course of action?’

  ‘We are, James.’

  ‘Don’t phone this number again.’

  ‘Sorry, James.’

  Bartholomew disconnected the call, banged the side of his head against the edge of the bookcase and phoned Chief Superintendent Bellmarsh.

  ***

  ‘Where are you, Quigg?’

  ‘You don’t really want to know, do you, Chief?’

  ‘No, I suppose not. Why did you attack Sir Peter?’

  ‘They’ve taken my daughter, Sir.’

  ‘You need to back off, Quigg. You’re too involved now. DI Peters can take over; she’ll find your daughter.’

  ‘It’s too late for that, Sir.’