The Skulls Beneath Eternity Wharf (Quigg Book 4)

by Tim Ellis

  ‘If you recall, it’s what I do.’

  ‘Quigg?’ It was the Chief calling him over.

  ‘Go home,’ he said to Ruth and Duffy. ‘I’ll see you soon.’ He shuffled over towards the Chief.

  ‘Another investigation of yours goes belly up.’

  ‘It definitely wasn’t my fault.’ He told the Chief what had happened.

  ‘You have a talent for attracting trouble like a bloody magnet.’

  ‘Thanks, Sir.’

  ‘It’s not a compliment, Quigg.’

  ‘I know.’ He gave a wry smile. ‘So, my plan is to go to the hospital and make sure Walsh is getting five-star treatment, go home for food, a couple of hours sleep, and a shower in that order, and then I’m coming back here to find the bastard who did that to Walsh. In the meantime, I’d be grateful if you could authorise a team of men to go down there and remove the rubble from the tunnel. We need to know where it comes out.’

  ‘I suppose you want me to make the necessary phone calls as well?’

  ‘Are you sure you’re up to it, Chief?’

  ‘You’d better get the hell out of here before I change my mind.’

  ‘I’ll see you later.’

  ‘You’ll need a temporary partner with Walsh laid up.’

  ‘I’m all right working on my own.’

  ‘Well, I’m not all right with that situation. We all need someone to watch our back.’

  ‘Don’t give me Sergeant Jones, Sir.’

  ‘I was thinking of DC Tallie Kline.’

  Quigg shrugged. He didn’t know her. Anticipating the usual problems he said, ‘She’s not pretty is she?’

  ‘Ugly as sin.’

  ‘I’ll give her a go then.’

  ‘I’m sure she’ll be over the moon.’

  ‘You can pass her my number, and ask her to phone me about ten o’clock this morning.’

  ‘Do I look like your fucking secretary, Quigg?’

  ***

  Lucy knew something was awry. She felt the wind of death slither under the door and crawl up her spine. The chapel was always quiet, because it was isolated from the main church building. Even though there were no pews or altars, and the church had been converted to a house, they all still thought of it as a church. The stained glass windows depicting angels and such like, and the clock tower with the cross on top were a bit of a give-away.

  What was wrong? She hacked into the CCTV system and scanned through the cameras, but couldn’t see anything untoward.

  Where was the gate guard? Who was on duty? She thought Rafael Valdes was on night duty. She didn’t like him much. Every time he looked at her she had the feeling he was undressing her with his piggy eyes, and he sweated a lot. Yuk!

  The security building was empty. Duffy’s car was missing from the car park, and fucking hell... the gates were open.

  She pressed one of the larger ornamental metal butterflies towards the outer circle of a spiral of butterflies made from recycled aluminium cans on the wall. Four tiles sank into the floor and shifted sideways to the right revealing a set of concrete steps leading down to an underground passageway between the chapel and the church.

  There was a scratching at the door. She dived down the steps, and pressed the button at the bottom of the steps to close the entry hatch. There was a light switch on the wall, and she flicked it down. A string of light bulbs came on along the tunnel.

  Whoever was scratching at her door wouldn’t find her down here. Who the fuck was it? Had those Apostles found her and managed to get someone inside? Had that slimy Rafael Valdes been paid to leave the gates open?

  The trouble was, she couldn’t see anything down here. She’d need to rectify that if she got out of this in one piece, put a computer down here with a link to upstairs. The idea hadn’t occurred to her before because she thought she was safe, but she now realised that she’d never be safe until those fucking paedophile bastards were destroyed.

  Why was Duffy’s car missing? She hadn’t heard her go out. What about Ruth, where was she? Oh fuck! If the killer couldn’t find Lucy, he might force Ruth to tell him about the secret tunnel. Ruth was pregnant for fuck’s sake. She had to make sure Ruth was safe. It wasn’t right that she was hiding down here and Ruth was in danger.

  And where the fuck was Quigg when she needed him? She checked her pockets. Fuck! She’d left her mobile phone next to her keyboard, coffee cup, and the nearly empty box of Turkish Delight – the bastard better not eat her Turkish Delight.

  She hurried along the tunnel to the stairs beneath the church. Her hand hovered over the release catch. Where was he now? Was he still outside? Was he in the chapel? Or, had he made his way into the church? What if he was just waiting for her to open up the hatch and stick her head out? He couldn’t get to her down here, but if she opened up the hatch she may as well take his gun and shoot herself three times in the brain.

  The palm of her hand pressed down on the round plastic knob, and the square of floor at the top of the stairs opened up letting in the soft light of the church’s atrium.

  Taking one step at a time she crept up the concrete steps, and as she moved upwards she turned her head every which way to make sure no one was there. Thankfully the killer wasn’t waiting for her in the atrium. Now, she had a dilemma. If she closed the trapdoor she’d waste valuable time if she needed to escape in a hurry, but if she left it open the killer would know where she was hiding. Hoping the killer hadn’t made it to the church yet she pressed the butterfly, and the trapdoor closed.

  There was a large antique clock on the wall above the door to the kitchen. It had Roman numerals and the hands showed it was III past XII, which she translated as quarter past twelve.

  If Ruth were here, she’d either be in the bedroom or her workroom. She tiptoed through the living rooms to Ruth’s bedroom. It was empty, and so was her workroom.

  Had Ruth gone out with Duffy? Why? Fuck, had they all set her up because she was screwing Quigg? No, they wouldn’t do that – would they?

  She heard a noise.

  The bastard was in the church.

  Now what?

  There was no way she could make it back to the tunnel. She needed somewhere to hide, but where?

  If she hid in a cupboard, or under the bed, he’d soon find her. One of the features the church retained was the vaulted ceiling, and the beams.

  She found a chair, and used it to climb onto the top of the wardrobe, and then hefted herself up into the ancient rafters. St Thomas’ Church, and the adjoining chapel, once had belonged to an Order of Franciscan monks before King Henry VIII dissolved the monasteries between 1536 and 1541. She hoped the wood would hold her weight. It wouldn’t hold those two fatties – Ruth and Duffy, but she wasn’t up the duff, and never would be either. God, why would any woman get pregnant? She spider-walked across the rafters until she was pressed against the wall above the bedroom doorway.

  Fucking hell! She just realised that if the bastard looked up, she’d made herself a sitting target. She took a couple of deep breaths. He heart was pumping like a fucking express train. Similar to when Quigg shagged the arse off her. She wished he were ramming himself into her now.

  ***

  He found Walsh on a gurney in the Accident & Emergency at quarter past three. She’d been stabilised and was on her way to theatre. A nurse told him that they had to clean the ends of the bone, re-set it, and put metal pins in it to keep it straight and help it knit together.

  ‘You won’t be able to walk past any magnets.’

  Walsh gave him a weak smile. She looked pale and drawn. ‘How did you get past security? I told them not to let you in under any circumstances.’

  ‘My winning personality did the trick. The Chief is giving me DC Tallie Kline because you’re not up to the job anymore.’

  ‘She’s a crazy bitch, Sir. She hates men. You won’t get her into bed.’

  ‘You’re clearly delusional if you think I have any powers to get a woman into bed, Walsh. It’s the other wa
y round. I’m a victim in life’s little drama. And anyway, from what the Chief tells me, I don’t think that’s going to be a problem. He said she’s as ugly as sin.’

  ‘He’s having you on, she’s hot as mustard.’

  ‘Hot? As hot as you?’

  ‘Hotter. Even I fancy her.’

  Quigg grunted. ‘I thought you’d turned over a new leaf.’

  ‘For the moment.’

  ‘So, you’d like to catch the bus, but if a rickshaw comes along you’ll hop on that instead.’

  ‘Nobody wants to work with her, you know. That’s why the Chief is letting her be your partner.’

  ‘I’d already guessed, when the Chief suggested her, that she wasn’t the perfect partner. As long as it’s not Sergeant Jones, she’ll do until you get on your feet again.’

  ‘You still want me as your partner?’

  ‘You might have to complete the entry test again, but yes, I still want you as my partner, Walsh.’

  ‘I think I know what the entry test is.’

  ‘There you go, we’re already thinking on the same wavelength.’

  A man and a woman in blue scrubs and white coats came to take Walsh away to the theatre.

  He squeezed her hand. ‘See you on the other side, Walsh.’

  Her bottom lip trembled, but she didn’t say anything.

  Crap, he was close to tears himself. He liked Walsh, liked her a lot, and he didn’t really want to work with anyone else. Walsh had balls. She stood up to him, made him think twice when he was about to make a fool of himself, and had his back.

  There was no point in hanging around, she’d be in theatre for at least a couple of hours, and then would be out for the count probably until late into the afternoon. He’d come back tonight when she was compos mentis.

  After three attempts, he managed to convince the vending machine in Reception to part with a hot chocolate. He found out from the octogenarian manning the desk that the woman who survived the fall through the floor of the warehouse at Eternity Wharf was called Lisa Evans and was a patient in the Intensive Care Unit.

  He finished his hot chocolate, walked up the stairs to the first floor, and spoke to a Staff Nurse Mandie Oliver. Quigg thought she must have an eating disorder, because her dark blue uniform was – at the very least – seven sizes too wide for her, and had been cinched at the waist with an elasticised belt like an Edwardian corset.

  ‘She’s drifting in and out of consciousness.’

  ‘Can I ask her a few questions?’

  ‘You can have forty-three seconds.’

  ‘Forty-three?’

  ‘That’s how old I am.’

  ‘When she wakes up?’

  ‘You can ask her as many questions as you like while she’s unconscious, she probably won’t answer though.’

  ‘I could arrest you.’

  ‘A night in a cell would be a holiday after a night working here.’

  He stood by the bed for ten minutes, but Lisa Evans didn’t wake up. Even though she’d survived the fall, Staff Nurse Oliver had informed him that it would be a miracle if she survived the night, and that even if she did she would be a paraplegic for the rest of her life because the fall had severed her spinal cord.

  Chapter Four

  She was perched on the rafters, and was sure the killer would be able to hear her stupid heart banging against her ribcage. For fuck’s sake, it was beating like a steel drum at the Notting Hill Carnival. It was so loud she expected the Carnival costume bands and floats to take a detour through Ruth’s bedroom dancing the calypso.

  Maybe she’d got it all wrong. Maybe she’d jumped to a crazy conclusion based on limited evidence. Maybe Ruth and Duffy had gone out for a takeaway, and the person scratching at her door was Quigg wanting some Lucy love. Soon, they’d all probably pile into the room, find her squatting in the rafters, and laugh until they wet themselves.

  But where was that slimy Rafael Valdes? Why had the gates been left open? The gates were never left open. And in all the time they’d been here, Quigg had never used her front door. He crept through the tunnel like a medieval Don Juan, and that’s just the way she liked it.

  A man wearing black clothes and a balaclava came through the door as if he owned the place. Lucy couldn’t see if he had a gun, and she didn’t want to find out either.

  He moved through the bedroom into the alcove, and she could hear him opening the doors one at a time – the Jacuzzi, bathroom, utility room, and Ruth’s workroom. If she’d had the nerve, she could have dropped down while he was searching for her, crept back out to the atrium, and hid in the passageway again. But she didn’t have the nerve. She was shaking all over, and her hands felt as though they’d been stuck to the rafters with Superglue.

  The man came back into the bedroom. She could now see that he was carrying a gun, and it had a silencer. Her breathing had stopped. She had lost the ability to breathe. If the assassin didn’t leave soon he wouldn’t have to shoot her, because she’d die from lack of oxygen and fall from the rafters like a dead bird.

  He was standing there looking round the bedroom for any other hiding places. She knew there was nowhere else to look – except up. He was going to look up and see her, and he did. He slowly craned his neck, and although she couldn’t see his mouth smiling, she watched the crow’s feet at the corner of his eyes crease up. The gun in his right hand moved up towards her like an artillery cannon finding its target.

  She went through all the options available to her. Remaining where she was like a statue would get her killed. She could plead for mercy, offer her body in exchange for life – she’d rather die. She could run, but running on rafters – she imagined, because she’d never actually done it – would be extremely difficult and extremely dangerous.

  As she launched herself into the air. His eyes opened as wide as they could possibly go, and she saw that they were turquoise blue. Both arms came up to shield himself from the leaping woman, but she was only interested in his right arm – the one with the hand gripping the gun.

  Her feet landed perfectly on his shoulders and she heard bone break as they both hit the floor. She did a forward roll like a ninja, saw the gun fly across the wooden floor and hide under the bed, and heard the man screeching like a banshee as he tried to stop the pain emanating from his broken collar bone.

  She was on her feet now, and wanted to make a run for the secret passageway, but he was between her and the door.

  ‘You fucking bitch,’ he spat at her and began to stand up.

  Why couldn’t life be fucking simple, she thought? She now had to decide whether to plead for her life, make a dive for the gun, or try and get past him before he was fully standing and had a physical advantage. She ran forward and kicked him in the testicles.

  He crumpled like a burst balloon.

  She edged past him, but as she did he shot out a hand and grabbed her ankle.

  ‘You’re not going anywhere, bitch.’

  She tried to shake her leg free, but he had a grip like a vice. Lifting up her other leg, she jabbed the heel into his broken shoulder.

  He screamed and let go of her.

  She could have run then, but she knew he’d have been on her heels before she could get into the passageway. He was already standing up, preparing himself for round four. Now she knew how Linda Hamilton felt when her hero Arnie – the Terminator – was chasing her. She ran forward, kneed the man in the shoulder, and then dived under the bed searching for the gun.

  Where the fuck was it? She felt her ankle being grabbed again, and she was being pulled from under the bed. He’d have the advantage. She slid over the wooden floor, couldn’t stop herself. Grabbed the springs underneath the bed, but even with one hand he was too strong for her. Then she felt something hit her arm, heard it spinning round and round, twisted her body and grabbed the gun.

  As her head came clear from beneath the bed, she had the gun gripped in both hands, pressed the index finger of her right hand down on the trigger and fired. />
  Nothing happened.

  Fucking hell! She kept pulling the trigger, but the gun wouldn’t fire.

  The safety catch – she knew nothing about guns except what she’d learned from movies.

  He was standing over her, legs astride, and as he leaned down to take the gun from her he said, ‘I think I’m gonna fuck you front and back before I kill you, bitch.’

  The safety catch clicked forward.

  His turquoise eyes nearly popped from his head.

  She pulled the trigger.

  The gun bucked in her hands, and made a ‘Pssst’ sound as the bullet travelled up the man’s arm, into the right side of his chest, and out through his back. It disappeared into the rafters above the door, and blood sprayed from the exit wound and spattered the wall as he jerked backwards and fell against it.

  Clambering up, she held onto the gun, and ran through Ruth’s half of the church into the atrium. Once there, she pressed the butterfly and disappeared into the tunnel again.

  She couldn’t stop shaking. She threw the gun down, sat on the floor, and cried.

  ‘You fucking paedophile bastards,’ she said.

  ***

  Duffy reached the church at five to two, but didn’t drive into the compound.

  She nudged Ruth. ‘The gates are open and there’s no guard.’

  ‘Why are they open? And where is Mr Valdes?’

  ‘Both good questions.’

  ‘We should go in and find out.’

  ‘No, we definitely don’t want to do that.’ Duffy pulled out her mobile and phoned Quigg.

  ‘What’s up, Duffy?’

  ‘The gates are open, and the guard is missing.’

  ‘Don’t go inside.’

  ‘I’m not.’

  ‘I’ll phone the station and get a squad car round there, and then I’ll be on my way, but it’ll take me at least half an hour to get to you. Where are you?’

  ‘Outside the gates.’

  ‘Get out of there. Go and find an all-night cafe and have a fry-up. I’ll ring you when I know what’s happening. Did you leave Lucy inside?’