The Skulls Beneath Eternity Wharf (Quigg Book 4)

by Tim Ellis

  Chapter Eight

  Since learning of the Apostles from Quigg in January, Emma Potter had been working with Ruth Lynch-Guevara to collect evidence against them. She had told her Editor at the London Standard – Geraldine (Gel) Poyner-Hayes – that she was pursuing the biggest exclusive story that there ever had been, and that it would provide enough material for front page copy for at least a year. Gel had rubbed her hands at the thought of it, and agreed for Emma to be on special assignment, but it had been nearly five months now, and Gel was getting exasperated and impatient. She wanted Emma to start writing and delivering the front pages. The paper had shareholders, and it was making a loss against its competitors. It was a local paper that had designs on becoming a national.

  ‘One more month,’ Gel had said. ‘If you haven’t written a front page spread by the 1st June, and it’s not lying on my desk waiting to be read, you’ll be history. Are we clear?’

  They were close. She knew it, and had committed herself to providing Gel with her front page by the end of the month. ‘You won’t be sorry,’ she had promised.

  Now, she seemed to be following Sir Peter Langham out of London. They had navigated through the cones on the A3220 until they reached Worlds End Estate. Had she not known the name of the housing estate she probably would have called it the arsehole of the world anyway – not that she used words like that, she wasn’t that type of girl – her parents had brought her up properly. They had turned onto the A3212 – Chelsea Embankment - and followed the path of the Thames. At Vauxhall Bridge they crossed over the river onto the A202.

  They were driving through Kennington, and Emma wondered where they were going at five o’clock on a Friday. Nobody in their right mind drove through London at this time of day on a Friday evening. Sir Peter was in the back of his chauffeur-driven Bentley probably unperturbed by the obscene traffic queues. She was squinting through the filthy windscreen of her Fiat 500, because she hadn’t brought her driving glasses with her. It wouldn’t be too much of a problem as long as she didn’t end up driving at night. If it turned dark, and she was still following Sir Peter she’d be in deep shit. She couldn’t see anything at night without her driving glasses, and even then she preferred not to risk driving. If the truth be told, she was nearly blind. But she hadn’t told the truth – to anyone – not her parents, or her Editor, and not to herself either. She needed to see a specialist, but she kept putting it off. Her Granny Dotty had gone blind at thirty-six, and there was nothing the doctors could do.

  They turned onto the A20 at New Cross. Her Fiat was a bit sluggish going round corners. She had been following Sir Peter all day, and it had been mostly boring. The only interesting part had been the disappearance of Lord Aaron of Shawcross. She’d seen Sir Peter and Lord Aaron go into Jim Henson’s Creature Workshop, but only Sir Peter came out. Where had Lord Aaron gone? She knew there was no other exit from the Creature Workshop, and the crumbling old relic certainly wasn’t the type to roll his sleeves up and start making creatures in the workshop.

  She might have rung Ruth and told her where she was going if she’d known, but she had no idea. Were they ever going to stop for petrol, a drink, or a bag of crisps? She needed petrol, food, and was desperate for a pee. If she’d known she was going to be following Sir Peter this far out of London she would have come prepared. It was the end of an arduous day, and all she wanted to do was soak in a hot bubble bath with Rick Murcer’s new book, Caribbean Rain, on her Kindle, and a glass of cheap red wine from the supermarket.

  ***

  As well as Maggie Sheahan-Parry being the UK manager for Halcyon Security, she was also a model. She had light brown hair that fell onto her surgically enhanced breasts, no wrinkles or furrows on her face or neck, and a handshake like an Olympic power lifter.

  ‘Detective Inspector Quigg, glad you could make it at last.’

  ‘Yeah, sorry about that. Murder case, back and forth across London chasing leads. Then, of course, the car getting towed away didn’t help... the lot of a policeman.’

  ‘At Halcyon Security the customer comes first. Your troubles are our troubles.’

  They were sitting in two leather easy chairs in her office on the third floor of the Halcyon building. Two sides were smoked glass with views of the semi-circular BBC Television Centre, and the traffic moving like a snail’s convention both ways on Wood Lane. The other two walls of her office were filled with certificates and photographs. One wall was clearly for items pertaining to the security business, but the other was dedicated to her success in the beauty arena – mostly Miss Sheahan-Parry in skimpy bikinis.

  ‘You like what you see?’

  ‘Who wouldn’t,’ he said like a connoisseur. ‘You’re very beautiful.’

  ‘And happily married with three children.’

  ‘And you still have time for all of this...’ he swept his arm around the office, ‘and the modelling?’

  ‘Oh, I do a lot more than mere modelling, but we’re not here to talk about me. Tell me what it is that Halcyon Security can do for you?’

  She certainly had the right patter, and she was wearing the right clothes – or not, he thought. Underneath a fitted jacket she wore a cream crocheted top with no bra that showed off her ample cleavage and her nipples. He tried to force the image of him running his tongue over those nipples from his mind, but it didn’t seem to want to go anywhere.

  He’d thought about what he was going to tell her throughout the day. He’d decided he couldn’t tell her about the Apostles, or that he was sleeping with the three women in the house, or about Lucy’s computer network. In fact, there wasn’t much he could tell her. He decided, after much deliberation, that he wasn’t going to tell her anything. All she needed to know was that his house required protection.

  ‘I could tell you what I need, but you’re the expert. What I’d like is for you to carry out a security survey of the house, and then tell me what I need.’

  ‘And you’re going to tell me about the Apostles?’

  His eyes narrowed. He wondered how the hell she knew about the Apostles. ‘There were twelve of them, Disciples of Christ I believe. Is this some sort of religious quiz?’

  She smiled. As he expected she had perfect white teeth. ‘Halcyon are in the business of information. I’m sure you’ve heard the mantra that information is power. Well, without security power is useless, because someone will always take that power away from you. When someone asks for our help, we find out who they are Inspector Quigg... do you mind if I call you by your first name?’

  ‘If you do, I’ll be investigating your death. Call me Quigg, everyone else does, and forget you ever discovered my first name.’

  ‘All right... Quigg. Well, our research uncovered some interesting facts about you... do you want me to list them?’

  ‘No, I don’t think that will be necessary. More to the point, what do you know about the Apostles?’

  ‘Very little. I know the name, I know you have someone in the house with the online name of Tornado Jane who seems to know what she’s doing. Every time "Apostles" – or an anagram of the word – appears anywhere on the Internet she is alerted.’

  Quigg rubbed his stubble. ‘If you can find her, so can they.’

  ‘We have the very best computer specialists.’

  ‘Mmmm.’ What choice did he have? She could help them, but to do that she needed to know everything... well, nearly everything. He wouldn’t tell her – or anybody for that matter – about the tunnel. It was a panic room, a last resort if all other measures failed. If she was providing security for the house, then he needed to be able to trust her.

  ‘Everything I tell you remains between the two of us. I understand that you’ll have to tell some of the people who work for you certain things, but it should be on a need to know basis.’

  ‘You can rely on my discretion.’ She smiled again. ‘I have some knowledge of security.’

  ‘Yes well, the Apostles seem to get everywhere. For all I know, you might have one work
ing here.’

  ‘Every one of our employees... carry on, Quigg.’

  He went back to the start, to the Body 13 case, to the abduction of Phoebe. How they’d killed Surfer Bob, and tried to kill Lucy – Uptown Girl, now Tornado Jane. Told her that they were going to bring the Apostles down, take everything away from them, and use their money to pay for it all, and give the rest to children’s charities.

  ‘And this is not a police operation?’

  ‘No, but then I haven’t told you who these Apostles are.’

  ‘No, you haven’t.’

  ‘Sir Peter Langham, Chairman of Hammersmith & Fulham’s Police Complaints Committee, and Fletcher Furnival, the Assistant Commissioner of Police are two of the Apostles that prevent me from making this a police operation.’ He told her the other high profile names.

  ‘And they’re bringing children into the country from Eastern Europe and doing... things to them?’

  ‘Yes.’ He told her about the underground complex in Surrey and the children that he and Duffy found there.

  ‘Of course, I remember seeing that on the news.’ She thought for a time. ‘Coffee?’

  ‘Love one.’

  She pressed a button on a mobile device and spoke into it. ‘Coffee please, Suzie.’

  A young woman – not nearly as beautiful as Maggie – brought in coffee and left. Maggie poured, and he sugared and milked his drink.

  ‘If we weren’t in the security business to make a profit, I’d help you for free. As you know, I have three children of my own, and the thought of these disgusting old men...’ There was no need to voice details, they both knew what they did to children. ‘Here’s what we’ll do, Quigg. We’ll offer you a standard contract with slight modifications. I’ll have Tony Carter carry out a full security review of the house tomorrow. He’ll be there at nine...

  ‘I nearly arranged for shutters today...’

  ‘Don’t worry about shutters, we have something much better in mind – high-speed steel barriers, and we do all our own installations. We’re a self-contained company, a bit like a fortress. To protect other people, and the things they care about, we first have to protect ourselves.’

  ‘Sounds good.’

  ‘When people in the security industry have problems, they come to us.’

  Quigg nodded. He was impressed with Maggie Sheahan-Parry and Halcyon Security. They seemed to be very professional.

  ‘Something we won’t put in the contract is Rachel Godwin.’

  ‘Oh?’

  ‘She’s our computer specialist. Used to be a hacker, but we brought her in from the cold. I’ll send her round once Tony has left to gel with your Tornado Jane...

  He had visions of Lucy resorting to murder if someone came in and started playing with her computer equipment. ‘I don’t think...’

  ‘Don’t worry, Tornado Jane will know who Rachel is. She’s the goddess of cyberspace. Her online name is Springfield. Anyone who is anyone on the Internet knows who Springfield is. They’ll get on like a house on fire.’

  ‘That’s what I’m worried about. I’ll mention her name tonight and see what response I get.’

  ‘Well, Rachel has said that Tornado Jane is good, but not as good as she is. I’ll send her in to plug the holes, and help where she can. As you said earlier, you don’t want the Apostles finding out about your continued interest and moving all their assets.’

  ‘No, that would set us back months.’

  ‘We’re agreed then?’

  ‘What about money?’

  ‘Five percent of everything the Apostles have?’

  ‘Two percent? Think of the children.’

  ‘Two and a half percent, my final offer.’

  ‘We have a deal.’

  They shook hands.

  ‘Seeing as you haven’t got a car with you, Graham Swift – the limousine driver – will take you wherever you want to go.’

  ‘That’s very kind, but I’m going to visit my partner at the hospital.’

  ‘Graham will take you there, wait for you, and then take you...’

  ‘...To Hammersmith Police Station, I need to collect my own car, so that I can get to work in the morning.’

  Maggie showed him out. ‘We’ll speak again,’ she said as he climbed into the limousine.

  He opened the drinks cabinet. A fresh can of draft Guinness stared back at him. The glass had been washed, dried and chilled. He licked his lips. Why not, he thought? He deserved it after the day he’d had.

  ***

  Graham Swift dropped him off outside reception at six thirty-five. Thankfully, it wasn’t the middle of the day. The few people that were about stared at him as he climbed out of the black monstrosity, whispered to each other behind cupped hands, and tried to work out who the hell he was. Nobody asked for his autograph, so they obviously didn’t know he was the famous Detective Inspector Quigg.

  The orthopaedic ward was called the Frank Bruno Ward, because Frank was famous and had been born in Hammersmith Hospital.

  Visiting time didn’t start until seven o’clock, so he had to wait until the nurses’ station was empty, and then sneak into Walsh’s room like a burglar.

  ‘You look as though you’ve done fifteen rounds with Frank,’ he said to her.

  She opened her eyes, and tried to shuffle up the bed using the triangular handle on a chain above her. It appeared to be a struggle though. Not only was she using one hand, but there was also a large bag of water hanging over the end of the bed, which was attached via string and a pulley system to either side of a steel pin protruding from her thigh, and pulling her back down. ‘You really know how to make a girl feel special.’

  He spread his arms. ‘Hey, it’s a God-given talent that I have. Has Robert been to see you yet? I rang and left a message on his voicemail last night.’

  ‘He’s coming later. I’ve been conked out most of the day.’

  ‘How is it?’

  ‘I’m in agony. They’re giving me morphine every four hours. I wish it were every five minutes.’

  ‘Well, at least they’ve fixed your leg. How’s the arm?’

  ‘Broken and sore.’

  Her lower left arm was in a plastercast, and her fingers had a blue tinge to them.

  ‘You’ll soon be right as rain.’

  She burst into tears. ‘Crap! I’m a bloody mess. The doctor came in and said I might lose my leg.’

  ‘What!’ He would have held her, but he didn’t know where to put his hands, so he just squeezed her shoulder and hoped he wasn’t hurting her. ‘I won’t let them take your leg, Walsh. I need that leg, I need you.’

  ‘You’ve got that bitch, Tallie Kline. In a couple of weeks you won’t even remember my name.’

  ‘Yes, you’re probably right...’

  ‘I knew it.’

  ‘Kline is a bitch... Do you know, she flies off the handle at the slightest provocation.’

  ‘You’re a pig, Sir.’

  ‘Yes, but a nice cuddly Vietnamese pot-bellied pig.’

  She gave a strained laugh. ‘At least Kline has got two legs.’

  ‘So have you. Trust me, you won’t lose your leg, I promise.’

  ‘They’ll know in forty-eight hours whether I can keep my leg or not.’ She burst into tears again, and then drifted into and uneasy sleep.

  He left Walsh’s room, shut the door quietly, and went to the nurses’ station.

  There were three nurses sitting doing nothing in particular. They ignored him as if he were invisible.

  He cleared his throat.

  ‘Just one moment, Sir,’ one of the nurses said.

  He gripped the counter, and could see the white bones of his knuckles. What was so important that one of them couldn’t speak to him? ‘Excuse me?’

  ‘We’ll be with you shortly, Sir.’

  ‘I’d like to make a complaint.’

  ‘You’ll have to go to administration on the ground floor and fill in a form, Sir.’

  ‘I want to complain about y
ou three so-called nurses sitting there, ignoring me.’

  ‘The ground floor for complaints, Sir.’

  ‘I want to talk to the doctor who’s looking after DC Heather Walsh.’

  ‘Just one moment, Sir.’

  None of the nurses looked at him.

  He leaned over the counter and grabbed the book the nearest nurse seemed to be reading. ‘Sudoku? You’re ignoring me to finish a sudoku puzzle?’

  She snatched it back. ‘I’m sorry, Sir, there’s another three minutes before visiting time, and don’t think we didn’t see you sneak into Miss Walsh’s room before.’

  He paced up and down in front of the nurses’ station until the second hand crawled around the clock another three times.

  At exactly seven o’clock the skinny Staff Nurse Susan Lucas looked up from her sudoku puzzle book, smiled and said, ‘How can I help, Sir?’

  ‘I’m Detective Inspector Quigg.’

  ‘Ah yes, we’ve heard of you.’

  Famous at last, he thought. ‘I’d like to see the doctor who’s looking after my partner DC Heather Walsh.’

  ‘Is that the fractured leg in number seventeen?’

  ‘Yes, but there’s actually a person inside that room. She’s not just a fractured leg lying on the bed, you know.’

  ‘I’m sorry, Sir, Doctor Maria Iacobellis isn’t here now. I can arrange for her to speak to you tomorrow morning?’

  ‘I’d like Miss Walsh transferred to a private hospital.’

  ‘I’m sorry, Sir, you’ll have to speak to Doctor Iacobellis.’

  ‘You’ve just told me she’s not here.’

  ‘That’s correct, Sir.’

  ‘Then how can I speak to her?’

  ‘I can arrange...’

  ‘I’d like Miss Walsh transferred tonight.’

  ‘I’m sorry, Sir, that’s not possible.’

  ‘I’d like to speak to the person in charge?’

  ‘You are, Sir.’

  He thought he might have shifted into the twilight zone again. ‘Why isn’t a transfer possible tonight?’

  ‘Because Doctor Iacobellis isn’t here.’