The Skulls Beneath Eternity Wharf (Quigg Book 4)

by Tim Ellis

He barred her way with an outstretched arm. ‘Why would I want you to do that?’

  ‘I’m expendable.’

  ‘Who says so?’

  ‘I’m only a DC, you’re an Inspector. Everyone knows that the lower down the food chain you are the more people want to eat you, and the less there is of you to go round.’

  ‘You have some strange ideas, Kline. I’ll be going first. No one that works for me is expendable. What did Houston want?’

  ‘You know.’

  ‘No I don’t know, that’s why I’m asking.’

  ‘Mind your own business.’

  ‘If you don’t like men, and you’re not a lesbian, what do you do about love and sex, and so forth?’

  She ignored him. ‘So this is where DC Walsh was injured?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Did the ceiling just collapse?’

  ‘I haven’t told you, have I? We saw the torturer.’

  ‘I didn’t know that.’

  ‘Well, you do now. We chased him, but he was obviously prepared. There was an explosion, and the ceiling collapsed on top of us.’

  ‘Do you think we should ask for back up? There might be more booby traps.’

  ‘That’s why I’m going first, but it’s a very good suggestion. Go back and ask Houston if him and one other mind coming with us.’

  ‘You’re just doing that to embarrass me, aren’t you?’

  ‘Shift your arse, Kline, I wouldn’t be so petty, and anyway you suggested we take back up with us.’

  ‘It didn’t involve me doing any grovelling though,’ she said over her shoulder.

  ‘You should have thought about that before.’

  Mark Houston and Iain Sneddon joined them. ‘Thanks guys, I owe you one. Hopefully, this shouldn’t take too long. The torturer should be long gone anyway. Grab yourselves a torch each.’

  ‘I thought a buckshee day off was too good to be true,’ Houston said.

  Quigg smiled. ‘Sorry about that, but at least you get to spend more time with Kline.’

  ‘Are you my pimping for me now?’

  ‘Just trying to be helpful.’

  ‘Stay out of my life, Sir.’

  ‘Walsh says that, but she doesn’t really mean it.’

  ‘Well, I do.’

  Quigg set off along the tunnel, shining the torch on the ground and walls as he went.

  After about ten minutes he said, ‘Correct me if I’m wrong, but I’ve got the funny feeling we’re now travelling north.’ He turned to look at the other three.

  ‘Which direction were we travelling in before?’ Kline asked.

  ‘East,’ he said.

  Houston and Sneddon shrugged.

  ‘I see, no one was in the boy scouts or girl guides?’

  ‘North is up near Newcastle, isn’t it, Sir?’ Sneddon said.

  ‘Of course it is.’

  He carried on. The others followed him. After another twenty minutes, he had the distinct feeling he was travelling downhill, and he could hear running water.

  ‘I can hear water,’ Houston said.

  Kline sniffed. ‘And it smells.’

  ‘It’s the sewers,’ Sneddon said.

  Kline stopped and shone her torch in Sneddon’s face. ‘Sewers?’

  ‘That’s what it’ll be. I noticed a while back that we’d started to go downhill, and I thought that maybe the tunnel might connect to the sewers.’

  ‘This isn’t a sewer, is it?’ Kline asked shining her torch past Quigg and into the darkness of the tunnel ahead.

  Sneddon shone his light around the floor and walls. ‘No, there’s no evidence of sewage ever having sloshed through this tunnel.’

  ‘Thank God for that. I don’t think I’d like to drown in sewage.’

  ‘When you two have quite finished.’ Quigg said, and continued on.

  Eventually, they came to two three-foot high arches – one on either side of the tunnel set into the stone. Both were sealed with iron hatches, which had been fitted over the arches from the other sides of the wall, but metal bars with locks kept the openings sealed from their side of the walls.

  Quigg stood in front of the right-hand arch for some time shining his torch at the iron door, and staring at the bar and lock.

  ‘What do you think about that, Kline?’

  ‘I think the sewers are on the other side of those doors. I can hear the water, and the smell is worse now.’

  ‘Keep going.’

  ‘You’re trying to embarrass me again in front of these two, aren’t you?’

  ‘Don’t mind us,’ Houston said.

  ‘Well?’ Quigg prompted.

  ‘They’re sealed from this side, which means that people working in the sewers don’t know about this tunnel, and can’t get through into here.’

  ‘Okay, anything else?’

  ‘Well, they could be used to escape if you had the key to the lock, and the iron bars could be moved. The bars look pretty solid to me... which means these doors haven’t been opened for a long time. Of course, the torturer didn’t get out through either of these exits.’

  ‘Good,’ Quigg said. ‘Let’s carry on.’

  ‘It’s quarter past twelve,’ Sneddon said. ‘I’m wondering about lunch.’

  Quigg grunted. ‘And me, but we’re in luck, Kline said she’ll pay as soon as we find the exit.’

  ‘I did not.’

  ‘But you will?’

  ‘Can I claim it back?’

  ‘I’m sure the Chief will authorise it.’

  ‘Don’t think you can go to the Ritz then – something cheap and nasty.’

  ‘You’re all heart, Kline.’

  ‘No I’m not.’

  ‘I was thinking fillet steak, chips, and peas,’ Houston said, and licked his lips with a loud slurp.

  ‘And your heart was clogging up as you were thinking about it,’ Kline said.

  ‘You’re a barrel of laughs.’

  ‘I’m neither of those things.’

  Houston’s brow furrowed and he pulled a face. ‘No, I suppose not.’

  They carried on walking for another ten minutes, and began walking uphill. The incline was barely perceptible, but the further they went the more difficult it became to walk.

  At last, they came to a set of three steps and a metal door, which was like a medieval door to a dungeon. There were two large hinges, and no openings in the door except for a large keyhole.

  Quigg pulled on the handle, but the door refused to move. He squatted and peered through the keyhole, but couldn’t see anything.

  ‘What’s your considered opinion of this door, Kline?’

  ‘I’d say it was locked.’

  ‘No wonder you’re a detective.’

  ‘It’s been used recently.’

  ‘Because?’

  ‘There are no cobwebs, there are scratches on the top step, and the hinges have been oiled.’

  Quigg peered at the hinges. He hadn’t noticed that, but Kline was right – they had been oiled. ‘Very observant.’

  ‘What now, Sir?’ Houston asked.

  He shone his torch up the tunnel. ‘What now, Kline?’

  ‘Well, we’re not going to get through the door, so we either carry on going forward, or we go back.’

  ‘I don’t really want to go back,’ Quigg said, and set off along the tunnel again.

  Soon, they came to a dead end.

  ‘Crap!’ Quigg said.

  ‘We’ve got to walk all the way back, haven’t we, Sir?’ Houston said, weariness evident in his voice.

  ‘Looks that way,’ he said. ‘Sorry, I thought there might be an accessible opening up here, but in hindsight – it was a stupid idea.’ He was really disappointed, had expected something more than a locked metal door.

  They trudged all the way back to the original cavern, which appeared to have become a base of operations.

  Perkins hadn’t appeared, and Janet Shepherd was still in charge.

  ‘I thought you’d got lost,’ she said.

/>   Quigg sat on a canvas stool. ‘There’s a locked metal door up there with three steps leading up to it, I’d like someone to open it for me. It’s quite a way up.’ He checked his watch. It was twenty past one. ‘Kline and I have to be at the mortuary for two o’clock, but I’d like you to ring me when the door is open and you know where it leads. Have you got a map?’

  ‘Have you got a brain?’

  ‘I’ll take that as a no then, but you can open door?’

  ‘I think we can manage that.’

  ‘Good. Come on Kline, let’s get moving. We’ll grab some lunch on the way.’

  ‘Did somebody mention lunch?’ Iain Sneddon said.

  Quigg shrugged. ‘In a bit of a rush now, guys. Maybe next time.’

  ‘Story of my life,’ Houston said.

  ‘Maybe Kline could provide you with some form of compensation?’ Quigg suggested.

  She moved to the ladder, put the harness on and said, ‘More like poison, or a kick in the nuts.’

  Quigg cringed. ‘Looks like you’re out of luck, Houston.’

  ‘As I said, story of my life.’

  ***

  On Fulham Palace Road they found Uncle John’s Bakery. Quigg ordered two cheese salad rolls – he preferred the crusty rather than the soft ones, and chose them. Kline had a vegetarian pasty, and was forced to pay when Quigg picked up his paper bag of rolls and walked out of the shop.

  ‘You’re vegetarian?’ he accused outside.

  ‘I am not.’

  ‘I see, you’re a hot pot of contradictions? You don’t like men, but you’re not a lesbian. You eat vegetarian food, but you’re not a vegetarian. Is there anything else I should know about you?’

  ‘Yes, you should know I don’t like people sticking their nose into my business.’

  ‘I’m not people, Kline.’

  ‘To me, you’re just another nosy bastard... Sir,’ she said as an afterthought.

  ‘I’m flattered.’

  ‘Don’t be.’

  After she’d eaten her pasty, Kline started the car and set off towards the hospital.

  Crumbs from Quigg’s crusty rolls flew all over the car.

  ‘Is this your car?’ Kline asked.

  ‘Pool car.’

  ‘I’m glad I’m not taking it back.’

  ‘You are.’

  ‘Excuse me?’

  ‘Walsh signed it out yesterday. It should have gone back last night, but we were otherwise engaged under a ton of rubble.’

  ‘Why can’t you take it back?’

  ‘Let me explain how hierarchical systems work, Kline. I’m the Inspector, and you’re two ranks and scuds of experience below me. People higher up the hierarchy give the orders, and those lower down – such as yourself – follow those orders.’

  ‘Shit. If I’d known you were going to force me to take it back I would have made you eat those rolls outside.’

  ‘Just mention my name in the garage, they’ll understand.’

  Confused, she glanced at him.

  ‘They hate me.’

  ‘Great.’

  He felt as though things were going as well as could be expected with Kline. Yes, she was a bit miserable, and obviously had issues with men, which was probably something to do with her childhood, but overall they were getting on like a house on fire. She reminded him of a wild horse fighting with every inch of its being to prevent being tamed, but he was confident she’d come round. He just needed to work out what strategy to use.

  ‘Why do you think the Chief put you with me?’

  ‘I was the only idiot who said they’d work with you.’

  ‘And how’s it been, so far?’

  ‘Only a smidgen better than I expected.’

  ‘Excellent.’

  They arrived at the mortuary at five past two. Doc Inglehart had the seven skulls lined up on a table, and she’d numbered them 1 - 7.

  She wore a pair of blue scrubs, and he could see her more clearly now. Her thick black hair fell to her shoulders. She had a chubby face, with a small nose and mouth, and on her left hand was a wedding ring.

  ‘You’ll appreciate this isn’t your normal post mortem.’

  They both nodded.

  ‘By the way, Detective Walsh hasn’t long come out of theatre, but she’ll live.’

  Quigg’s brow furrowed. ‘I didn’t realise there was a chance of her dying.’

  ‘They had a devil of a job cleaning the ends of the bones apparently. What they didn’t want to do was put her back together, and then have to undo it all because there was still dirt in there, but they’re confident they got it all.’

  ‘Good. I’ll be going to see her later after work. Thanks for that, Doc, I couldn’t get anything useful out of a nurse I spoke to earlier.’

  ‘No, they have strict guidelines about giving out information over the phone.’

  ‘So, the skulls...?’

  ‘Yes, the skulls. I extracted DNA samples and input them into the database. You’ll be pleased to hear I have one match.’

  ‘Now, we’re talking,’ Quigg said rubbing his hands together like a poor imitation of Shylock.

  ‘Number three is Adrian Chapman, aged forty-seven of 86 Colehill Lane in Fulham. He was arrested for driving under the influence in 2003, which is how we came to have his DNA.’

  ‘Write the address in your notebook,’ he said to Kline.

  She did as she was told, which surprised him. Maybe she was softening, he thought.

  ‘Reported missing?’ Kline asked the Doc.

  ‘No.’

  ‘That’s strange,’ she said. ‘Does he have any family?’

  Doc Inglehart checked the notes. ‘A wife and three children.’

  Kline and Quigg looked at each other.

  ‘What about the others?’ he asked.

  ‘No DNA matches. We’ve x-rayed each skull, and are now looking for matches with dental and medical records of missing persons, but nothing yet.’

  ‘What about facial reconstruction?’

  ‘You’re in luck.’

  ‘You must be my good luck charm,’ he said to Kline.

  ‘I’m not your anything.’

  Doc Inglehart gave her a funny look, and then said, ‘We’ve got a trainee forensic anthropologist – who goes by the name of Chouka Price – here on a three-month secondment...’

  ‘Chouka, what type of name is that?’

  ‘Apparently, it’s the Indian name for a four-horned antelope. Anyway, if you’re happy...’

  ‘Is he Indian then?’

  ‘She... is not Indian, and because she’s on a PhD secondment from Goldsmith’s University...’

  ‘Not Indian! What’s the world coming to?’

  ‘She’ll do facial reconstructions of any of the other six skulls that we can’t identify in other ways for...’

  ‘At £4,000 per skull I don’t think....’

  ‘...Free.’

  ‘Free? Why didn’t you say so before? The Chief will be my friend forever if we can get the skulls done for free.’

  ‘You’re happy with a trainee doing them?’

  ‘If she weren’t any good, she wouldn’t have been accepted onto the PhD programme, so yes, I’m happy. She’ll also have a supervisor who will keep her on the straight and narrow. In these economically stringent times, free is very good.’

  ‘It’ll take her at least forty-eight hours to do each reconstruction.’

  ‘That’s fine, Doc. The name and address of the victim you’ve identified gives us a place to start. Anything else?’

  ‘What more do you want?’

  ‘Come on, Kline, you’ve outstayed your welcome.’

  As they were walking along the corridor towards the stairs Quigg’s phone vibrated.

  He didn’t recognise the number. ‘Quigg.’

  ‘Guess where I am?’

  ‘Hello, Janet. I warn you, I’m no good at guessing games. In a globe on the London Eye?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘Winding up Big Ben?
’

  ‘No.’

  ‘On the twenty-foot high diving board at the Olympic swimming pool wearing a skimpy bikini and a party hat?’

  She laughed. ‘I’m not in the business of frightening people.’

  ‘All right, I give up.’

  ‘In the basement of Charing Cross Hospital.’

  ‘You’ve opened that door?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘We’re on our way.’

  He ended the call, but the phone rang again within seconds.

  ‘Quigg.’

  ‘Charing Cross Hospital is a big place, do you want to know where I am?’

  ‘Not another guessing game?’

  ‘I’ll meet you in the main reception in half an hour.’

  ‘See you then.’

  Chapter Seven

  Kline drove down the A219 and turned left along St Dunstan’s Road to the Charing Cross Hospital entrance. It wasn’t hard to find, because the enormous T-shaped skyscraper dwarfed all the other surrounding buildings.

  She parked in a Mr James Currie-Cathey’s parking space, who was apparently a Consultant Dermatologist.

  ‘You’ll get clamped and towed away,’ Quigg said pointing to a sign that threatened exactly that.

  On the dashboard she put the "Police Car" sign. ‘I’ll arrest any stupid bastard who tries it.’

  ‘You’re not an advocate of community policing then?’

  She ignored him.

  Janet Shepherd was waiting for them in the reception. As well as a large desk with helpful looking men and women behind it, there was also a Costa Coffee bar doing a roaring trade.

  ‘Hi Janet, before we get started on the guided tour I need a coffee. I can’t remember the last time that drink passed my lips. I think I’ve got dehydration. What about you Kline?’

  ‘Get me an apple juice.’

  ‘Isn’t it your turn to pay?’

  ‘You’ve left me destitute after running out of the bakers. I haven’t got enough to pay my rent now.’

  ‘I hardly ran,’ he said joining the short queue at the counter. ‘It was more like a gentle stroll.’

  Janet and Kline waited for him.

  ‘I’ll have to get a second job to pay for your apple juice, Kline,’ he said passing a tiny carton to her.

  Kline pulled a face and held the apple juice carton up to the light. ‘I didn’t know they were doing miniature ones.’

  ‘I can take it back and ask for a refund?’