The Skulls Beneath Eternity Wharf (Quigg Book 4)

by Tim Ellis

  She had already ripped the straw off the side and pierced the carton. ‘Wait until I’ve drunk it.’

  ‘Right Janet, lead the way.’

  ‘It’s quite some distance.’

  ‘Have you got a map?’

  ‘I don’t need one, I’ve been here a number of times.’

  ‘I wasn’t thinking of you. We’ll have to get back to the car.’

  ‘Try and remember, I haven’t got a map.’

  ‘Kline, take note. If we get lost on the way back you’ll get demoted.’

  ‘I’m already lower than a snake’s belly, so do your worst.’

  ‘See what I have to put up with, Janet? I hope Walsh gets better soon.’

  The hospital contained a vast cornucopia of specialist wards and rooms both upwards and outwards, but they were going down. They left the main hospital building under a covered walkway to the Mental Health wing.

  Quigg expected Janet to use numbered codes to access doors, but it appeared that care in the community had taken hold because staff and patients were roaming free.

  They went through a pair of double doors into a stairwell. Janet led them down one floor, but instead of exiting through another set of double doors into a lit corridor at the bottom, she pointed to an inconspicuous door without a sign in a corner beneath the stairs.

  ‘That’s where we came out,’ she said.

  ‘Was it locked?’

  ‘Yes, but one of the men who opened the metal door was a bit of a locksmith, and soon had this open as well.’

  ‘A bit of a locksmith?’

  ‘I didn’t ask.’

  ‘I can see the headlines now: "Quigg employs criminals to open doors". If I’m going down, I won’t go alone, Janet.’

  She opened the door and stepped inside. ‘Feel free to blame me,’ she said over her shoulder.

  Beyond the door was a set of concrete steps wide enough for one person to navigate up or down. There were no lights apart from the torch Janet was carrying, but there was a rusty handrail attached to the right-hand wall. The steps appeared to follow a spiral pattern, and seemed to go on forever.

  ‘What in God’s name is down here?’ Quigg asked.

  ‘Old boilers,’ Janet shouted back up.

  Eventually, they reached the bottom of the stairs, and exited into a dark and filthy corridor. Fibreglass hung from the ceiling exposing rusty old piping, and on the floor were layers of dirt, broken ceiling tiles, and electrical wires.

  ‘Along here,’ Janet called.

  They followed her, the detritus crunching underfoot.

  The corridor opened up into a room containing three large boilers sitting on a concrete and brick plinth. The front panels had been removed, and the insides were exposed.

  ‘It looks like something has made its home in here,’ Kline said peering into the middle boiler.

  ‘Something?’ Quigg enquired. ‘Like what?’

  ‘Maybe a bear, or a feral child.’

  ‘A bear?’

  ‘I don’t know, I’m just throwing suggestions into the air.’

  ‘A feral child? You mean they mislaid a child in the children’s ward, who ended up down here, living off rats and the like?’

  ‘You can make fun of me if you want, but there’s something living in that boiler.’

  ‘Probably a stray dog.’

  ‘Or an alligator.’

  Janet led them round the back of the boilers to an open metal door. ‘Down here.’

  ‘It’s like the Minotaur’s labyrinth,’ Quigg said.

  ‘Maybe that’s what’s living in the boiler,’ Kline suggested.

  Quigg had tired of the thrust and parry. He checked his watch. It was ten to four. He had an appointment with the security woman at four-thirty, and he still had to get back up to the car. They went down another set of rough concrete steps to the open metal door in the tunnel. ‘I’m going to have to go soon,’ he said.

  ‘Where?’ Kline asked.

  ‘Detective Inspector business.’

  ‘Oh, you’re allowed to have secrets, but I’m not.’

  ‘DI’s prerogative.’

  ‘You tell me yours, and I’ll tell you mine?’

  ‘Don’t think I’m not tempted. I am, but I haven’t got time. Maybe tomorrow we can do a secret swap?’

  ‘It’s a one-time offer. Now or never?’

  ‘So, Janet, have you actually spoken to anyone at the hospital, like the Chief Executive, the Board of Trustees, or a porter even, and informed them we’re trampling all over their old boiler room?’

  ‘That’s your job.’

  ‘Where’s Perkins?’

  ‘Back at the cavern. I’ve spoken to him, and he said it was your job.’

  ‘I see, you’re both conspiring against me.’

  ‘It’s still your job.’

  ‘Well, it’ll have to wait until tomorrow.’

  ‘Remember it’s Saturday tomorrow.’

  ‘And?’

  ‘Well, unlike you and I, some people have days off.’

  ‘Do they? How novel. Well, they won’t be having a day off tomorrow.’

  ‘It could be anybody, Sir.’

  ‘What are you rambling on about, Kline?’

  ‘The killer. It is why we’re here, isn’t it?’

  ‘You think that anybody could wander into the hospital off the street, and come down here?’

  ‘Yes. We did. Nobody knows we’re here. As long as they had a key to that door, it could be anybody in Hammersmith, London, or the whole world.’

  ‘Okay, let’s not get carried away.’ He knew she was right. Nobody had challenged them. They had walked from the car park all the way through the hospital, and straight down here. Where was security? Were they even recorded on CCTV? As usual, he had hoped for more, and as usual it had not been forthcoming.

  He squinted at Janet in the half-light. ‘Your people are doing the usual – fingerprints, DNA, hair and fibres, etceteras?’

  ‘Of course, but I’m not feeling optimistic.’

  ‘You forensic types make me laugh. One of these days you’ll actually find something that will help me solve a murder.’

  ‘Perkins said you’d try and wind me up, and I wasn’t to take the bait.’

  ‘Perkins isn’t always right, you know?’

  ‘Apart from his unerring belief in UFOs and aliens living among us, I’ve found him to be unbelievably accurate. Oh, and by the way, we’ve found a father and son team to go down that hole in the cavern. Apparently, they specialise in dangerous descents.’

  ‘And they know what’s probably down there?’

  ‘They can’t wait to get started.’

  ‘I suppose it takes all types. I’m going to go now, but we’ll be meeting in the incident room at half past eight tomorrow morning. Tell Perkins I want him there with everything he has so far... or you could come if you want to.’

  ‘One of us will be there.’

  ‘Good. Kline, have you got any observations before we make the ascent back to the car park?’

  ‘Aren’t we going to speak to people?’

  ‘Like who? You said yourself it could be anybody in the whole wide world. We need to narrow the suspect list down a bit before we start questioning people.’

  ‘I suppose.’

  ‘Let’s go then. See you when I see you, Janet, and good job so far, thanks.’

  ‘You’re welcome, Inspector.’

  Retracing their steps was straightforward until they reached the main hospital, and then the signs directed them every which way. It was twenty past four by the time they reached the car park, but the car wasn’t there.’

  ‘I told you,’ Quigg said.

  ‘Very helpful.’

  He pointed to a sign. ‘Ring that number. I’ve got to go, but you’d better get the car back, and return it to the car pool tonight.’

  ‘You’re leaving me?’

  ‘I did say I had an appointment, for which I’m already ridiculously late.’


  ‘But... how will I get the car back?’

  ‘I thought you were going to arrest the stupid bastard who took the car away?’

  ‘If I’d caught them in the act I would have done. I’ll never be able to afford the release charges.’

  ‘I thought you were a police officer.’

  ‘I am.’

  ‘Threaten them with dire consequences. Tell them you want to see their records, that you’ll call in the fraud squad, that their operations will have to be suspended until you give the all clear, which could be a week or more... but if they were to give you back your car... You get my drift. Also, there’s the "interfering with a police investigation", that usually works if you put the handcuffs on, and pretend to call for transport to take everyone to the station.’

  ‘And I thought you were a doddering old fool who knew nothing.’

  ‘There you go, you’ve learned something new today.’

  He didn’t have the number for Halcyon Security, so he phoned home. It took ages for anyone to answer. He was getting concerned, and was about to re-dial when Ruth answered.

  ‘Are you all right?’ he said.

  ‘We are still in bed.’

  ‘What, all three of you?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘So, all the things I asked you to do on the note, haven’t been done?’

  ‘What note?’

  ‘I left a note next to the phone in the kitchen.’

  He heard her asking Duffy and Lucy if they’d seen the note.

  ‘No one has seen the note.’

  ‘I need the telephone number of Halcyon Security. I wrote it on the note.’

  ‘Just a moment, I will need to...’

  He lost her, and guessed she was putting on some clothes. When he’d left this morning, all three of them had been naked.

  ‘Are you there, Quigg?’

  ‘I’m here.’

  She gave him the telephone number, and he jotted it down in his notebook.

  ‘It is too late to do any of the things you have written on your list. I will ring Emma and see if she can come to a meeting.’

  ‘Okay, I’ll see you later.’

  ‘See you later, Quigg.’

  He ended the call, and was about to ring Halcyon Security when he heard Kline shouting down her phone.

  ‘I’m gonna come over there and cut your fucking testicles off, you low life bastard. You’ll find yourself in a cell bleeding to death and screaming in agony, and I’ll be outside laughing my head off. Are you still there? You fucking...’

  A small group had formed. Quigg was glad that no one knew they were police officers.

  ‘Everything going according to plan then?’

  ‘Did I say how much I hate men?’

  ‘I think you mentioned that this morning as your opening gambit.’

  ‘I wish I were armed. I’d go over there and shoot every one of those wheel-clamping bastards.’

  ‘Maybe you could hitch a lift with him.’ He pointed to a man climbing out of a truck with Queen’s Wheel Clamping Company emblazoned on the side.

  She shot off towards the vehicle like a half-crazed zombie.

  ‘Half past eight in the morning,’ he shouted after her.

  It was twenty to five. He rang the number for Halcyon Security, and eventually spoke to Maggie Sheahan-Parry. ‘I guess you know I’m late?’

  ‘I was beginning to wonder if you’d forgotten.’

  ‘It’s a long story. I was late anyway, and then my partner got our car wheel clamped and towed away.’

  ‘So, how are you getting here?’

  ‘I’m at Charing Cross Hospital, so I’ll have to catch the tube from Barons Court to Wood Lane. That’s why I’m ringing, I probably won’t get to you until five-thirty, or maybe closer to six seeing as it’s rush hour. Is that too late?’

  ‘How about I send a car for you?’

  ‘I wouldn’t argue, it’s been a very long day.’

  ‘It’ll be there within fifteen minutes.’

  ‘I’ll be outside the main reception sat on a wall like a vagrant.’

  Now, that’s what he called customer relations. Mind you, he expected that once she’d closed the deal, it would all be different. Then, he’d just be another paying customer instead of a potential lucrative contract.

  He hadn’t noticed the Queen’s Wheel Clamping truck leave, and Kline was missing as well. She was angry, that was fairly obvious, and he hadn’t been much use. He hoped she was all right, and decided to ring her. Sitting on the wall by reception, he found her name in his phonebook. Losing one partner was an occupational hazard, but the Chief would view two as careless.

  ‘Kline.’

  ‘Are you all right?’

  ‘I’m in the low loader – that’s what it’s called apparently – loading my sawn-off shotgun.’ She laughed like a crazy person. ‘I’m gonna kill all those wheel clamping bastards... Well, except Ryszard... he’s Polish by the way.’

  ‘Found a man you like?’

  ‘I could always come back and kill you.’

  ‘Just make sure you get the car back, Kline.’

  ‘Thanks for ringing, Sir.’

  ‘Hey, that’s what partners are for.’

  The call ended. He was glad she was okay.

  He pulled out his notebook and made notes as he re-ran the day through the projector in his head.

  What a crazy day! Well, at least they had a lead. Why hadn’t Adrian Chapman’s relatives reported him missing? No doubt they’d find out tomorrow. Although Kline was potentially right about the possibility of the killer being anyone in the world, she was also wrong. Now that he’d had time to think about it there were a number of things that made it unlikely. First, they would have needed to know about the door in the stairwell in the Mental Health wing, and that was a pretty obscure place for a door. Second, they would have needed a key, because the door hadn’t been forced. Third, why would anybody go to all the trouble of getting a key to a door when they had no idea what was behind it? Or, did they? No, it had to be somebody in the hospital, but it was a bloody large hospital. They’d get a list of staff who worked at the hospital tomorrow. A large percentage would be women. The killer wasn’t a woman, so they could eliminate them. It could be someone who used to work there. How far back did he need to go?

  He was starving again. He’d have to grab something in the hospital when he went to visit Walsh. Buy her a Cornish pasty instead of grapes, and eat it himself. It would be a while before she was fully fit, at least three months. He’d just have to make do with Kline until Walsh was a hundred percent. Kline wasn’t Walsh by any stretch of the imagination, but he’d work on her. Three months was enough time to train her up, and find out her dirty little secrets.

  How could anyone go down that hole? No amount of money would persuade him to venture into that hole. Even at the mere thought of it his necrophobia had kicked in, and the palpitations had begun. He had to take deep breaths and concentrate to bring it under control. No, he certainly didn’t envy the father and son who had been contracted to go down there. God knows what they’d find. Well, he had a pretty good idea. If it was a dump for all the decapitated bodies, then what? Would they recover them, bring them up one at a time, contact the relatives if they could be found and bury them properly? To his mind, the bodies were probably best left where they were. Maybe pour petrol over them and cremate them. He shivered at the thought of it.

  What was the point of those two metal hatches in the tunnel that led to the sewers? They’d have to get onto the Water Company, obtain blueprints if they had any going back that far. Find out when the sewers were built, and by whom. There must be a connection between whoever built the sewers, and the torture chamber network. They’d also need to get people down there. He expected he and Kline would need to go with them, find out what was on the other side of the metal hatches, ask some questions. What did the sewerage workers think the hatches were for? Had nobody tried to open them?

  They were lucky f
inding those journals. Would they reveal anything useful? A journal for each torture device was a bit strange. He wondered what that was about? And the whole thing going back to 1891 – that was what... a hundred and twenty-one years for God’s sake. Well, at least they knew it wasn’t one person. Working on the basis of forty years – from twenty to sixty years old – that would be three people if they were handing over to each other, but what if there was more than one person torturing at the same time. Based on the estimated body count and the number of years the torturing and killing had been going on, nine or ten people a year had been disposed of. Was it continuous, or did they take a break during the war years? Well, an analysis of the dates would tell them that, together with how many different types of handwriting there was. Yes, those journals were an interesting find.

  A black stretch limousine pulled up beside him, and the driver stepped out.

  ‘Mr Quigg?’

  ‘That’s me.’

  ‘Graham Swift from Halcyon Security.’ He walked round to the rear door and opened it.

  ‘For me?’

  ‘Mrs Sheahan-Parry said help yourself to a drink.’

  He slid into the soft leather seat, and sank back as if he’d always sat there. The driver shut the door. Soft music played in the background. He opened up the drinks cabinet, and as well as the usual spirits and soft drinks, there was a can of draft Guinness and a chilled Guinness glass.

  The woman had obviously done her homework, and if he’d had the choice of a million pounds or a can of draft Guinness at that moment, he would have chosen the Guinness. He poured the dark liquid into the glass, and after it had settled he closed his eyes and took a long swallow.

  When his secret phone vibrated he thought about ignoring it, but he didn’t.

  ‘Where are you?’ Ruth asked after he’d pressed accept.

  ‘You wouldn’t believe me if I told you.’

  ‘Emma cannot come to a meeting tonight.’

  He sighed. ‘Why not?’

  ‘She is following Sir Peter Langham.’

  ‘Oh?’

  ‘She will come to a meeting tomorrow and tell us all about it.’

  ‘Okay, see you later.’

  ‘Are you not going to tell me where you are?’

  ‘No,’ he said, and ended the call.

  Closing his eyes, he took another long swallow of the Guinness. Why was Emma Potter following Sir Peter Langham?