The Skulls Beneath Eternity Wharf (Quigg Book 4)

by Tim Ellis

  ‘Can I speak to another doctor?’

  ‘You could, Sir, but they would just refer you to Doctor Iacobellis.’

  ‘Who isn’t here?’

  ‘That’s right. I think you’re getting the hang of this, Sir.’

  ‘Why isn’t she here?’

  ‘I’m sorry, Sir, that’s confidential information.’

  ‘Look, Miss Walsh said the doctor has told her she might lose her leg...’

  ‘Are you a relative?’

  ‘I’m her boss.’

  ‘I’m sorry, Sir, I can’t discuss patient details with...’

  He thrust his head over the counter as if he were a Rottweiler looking for bones. ‘If my partner loses her leg, I’m going to sue the arse off you, Doctor Iacobellis, and this damned hospital.’

  Staff Nurse Lucas smiled. ‘I look forward to receiving the court summons, Sir. Is there anything else I can do for you tonight?’

  He arranged to meet with Dr Iacobellis at ten o’clock in the morning, and as he turned away he saw out of the corner of eye that Staff Nurse Lucas had eyes like Satan’s wife.

  Chapter Nine

  At last, she thought when she saw the Bentley’s indicator flashing. Her bladder was so distended she wondered if she’d be able to get out of the car and make it to the toilet without wetting herself.

  The Bentley pulled into Hoblands Wood services on the A20 at Sidcup – she followed and parked as close to the building as possible.

  She didn’t care whether Sir Peter Langham was staying or not, she needed the toilet. After locking the car, she hurried to the ladies.

  When she came out and looked through the window of the services building, she saw the Bentley was still there. She decided to pop into the shop and buy a ham and cress sandwich, three packets of salt and vinegar crisps, a double Snicker’s bar, and a bottle of pineapple juice. It wasn’t her normal food, but she thought she might need some extra protein tonight.

  No sooner had she reached her car, opened the door, and put her handbag and the goodies on the passenger seat than a man came up behind her.

  ‘Excuse me?’

  She jumped and turned around. A grey-haired man in a dark suit stood there. ‘Are you trying to kill me?’ she said. Then she noticed the Bentley. It had crept up and was parked behind her Fiat with the rear door open.

  ‘Sorry miss,’ he said, but he wasn’t sorry at all, because he thumped her in the midriff. She crumpled into his arms gasping for breath, and nearly passed out from the pain.

  He bundled her into the rear of the Bentley. Sir Peter Langham was sitting in the seat opposite and smiled at her.

  ‘Well, well, what have we here?’ he said.

  The man who had hit her passed her handbag and the white plastic bag containing the food and drink she’d just bought, to Sir Peter. ‘I’ve locked her car, and the keys are in the handbag, Sir.’

  ‘Thank you, Julian. You may continue on our journey now.’

  The door closed.

  She heard Julian get into the driver’s seat, and felt the car pull away.

  ‘What in God’s name are you doing?’ she managed to force out. ‘You can’t kidnap me like this in broad daylight.’

  Sir Peter rummaged in her bag, withdrew her purse, and found all her cards.

  He gave a laugh. ‘I’ve always wondered why people say "broad daylight". What exactly does that mean? Is there such a thing as "narrow daylight"?

  She knew "broad daylight" meant ample and obvious daylight, but she wasn’t about to educate a moronic knight of the realm.

  ‘Anyway, Miss Emma Potter, member of the press representing the London Standard, as you are acutely aware, I can kidnap you in broad daylight, because here you are sitting in the rear seat of my Bentley.’

  ‘But why? Who are you?’

  His lip curled up. ‘I’ve already killed one person today, so a second won’t make much difference one way or the other.’

  Fear gripped her painful stomach. By telling her that, she knew that she was going to die. He would not allow her to live after admitting to the murder. Now she knew what had happened to Lord Aaron.

  ‘Let’s not play silly games, Miss Potter. You know very well that I am Sir Peter Langham, and you’ve been following me all day, which was confirmed, as soon as you pulled into the services. The question is why?’

  She moved towards the door. ‘I have no idea what you’re talking about, and demand that you release me immediately.’

  ‘I don’t think you want to jump onto the A20 at seventy miles an hour, Miss Potter. Sit back before I knock you back.’

  She sat back and bit her lip. Oh God, Quigg had warned her not to get too close – sitting in the back of Sir Peter Langham’s Bentley was definitely too close. She’d told Ruth whom she was following, but she hadn’t said where she was. In fact, she still didn’t know where they were going.

  ‘What are you going to do with me?’

  ‘I think that’s fairly obvious, Miss Potter. As soon as we get to our destination we will find out what you know, and who you’re working with.’

  ‘I don’t know anything.’

  She saw his eyes narrow, and the corners of his mouth moved upwards. ‘I have a number of colleagues who will take great pleasure in determining whether that is true or not.’

  ***

  Ruth had cooked arroz con pollo for everyone. The result was that she and Duffy weren’t talking to each other.

  Quigg was always suspicious of food he hadn’t tried before. Sniffed it, and then moved the pieces of meat around to check there was nothing hiding underneath before putting a small portion of rice in his mouth to investigate the taste and texture.

  ‘Arroz con pollo is Spanish for rice with chicken, Quigg,’ Ruth said. ‘I would not poison the father of my child.’

  ‘So, why aren’t you two talking?’ he said, but he knew he was going to regret asking.

  They glanced at each other as if murder was on the menu.

  ‘It is her fault,’ Ruth started.

  ‘I knew you’d say that,’ Duffy retaliated. ‘I wanted to cook you corned beef, cabbage and colcannon, but she insisted on cooking you this Cuban muck.’

  ‘You are an ungrateful bitch, Marvin.’

  ‘Don’t start mispronouncing my name you Cuban tart, you know very well it’s Mavourneen.’

  Quigg held up his hands to shut them both up. ‘Is this what I have to come home to? If it is, I won’t bother coming home. I have a partner lying in a hospital bed who’s in danger of losing a leg, and you two are acting like children.’

  Duffy pouted. ‘She started...’

  ‘I’ll have no more of it, Duffy.’

  He stared first at Duffy, and then at Ruth. Both of them looked down at the table. ‘You’ll both make up and shake hands.’

  ‘But...’ Ruth started to say.

  ‘Won’t,’ Duffy said.

  ‘You can sleep with me tonight, if you want?’ Lucy kindly offered.

  He wasn’t hungry anymore, pushed his plate away from him, and stood up. ‘I’ll be sleeping in the Chapel tonight...’

  Lucy stood up as well, and smiled at Ruth and Duffy.

  ‘...On my own,’ Quigg continued. He went through into the atrium and pressed the butterfly. As he walked along the tunnel, he knew he definitely needed somewhere to call his own – a sanctuary.

  It was only ten past eight when he climbed into Lucy’s bed, but he was on his last legs. He hadn’t realised how tired he was. He had to make time tomorrow to talk to Walsh’s doctor – whatever her name was. Tallie Kline, he was sure would turn out okay and make someone a creditable partner, but Walsh was his long-term partner. He had to make sure she recovered with both legs intact, and if that meant paying for the best private treatment possible then that’s the way it would be. The Apostles could afford a small portion for Walsh.

  ***

  ‘Gentlemen, thank you for coming,’ Bartholomew said glancing round the new Queen Anne antique dining table at t
he other ten Apostles. He had sent them each a text earlier, which provided the Sevenoaks estate postcode – for their satnavs – and the time of 8 p.m. Although there were still some finishing touches to be done before the end of the month, he had encouraged them to wander round the estate, and look at the work that had been done.

  ‘I know this is not the end of the month, but there have been some developments. There are no refreshments, and none of the usual entertainment. I will, however, only keep you a short time, and for those who wish to partake of some heterosexual entertainment, I have a young lady who would be only too pleased to cater to your carnal desires before she dies.’

  They glanced furtively at each other. Some smiled and licked their lips in anticipation of what they imagined was to come.

  ‘As you can see, James is absent.’ He indicated the empty chair next to him. ‘Unfortunately, James met with an accident. As a consequence, I will now be in charge of our ongoing business affairs and investments.’

  ‘An accident,’ Thaddeus said. ‘What type of accident?’ Thaddeus was a small portly man in his early sixties with silver-grey hair, glasses like magnifying lenses, and flabby jowls. Bartholomew recalled he had a particular liking for pretty boys under ten years old.

  ‘The type one does not recover from, Thaddeus.’ It wasn’t a requirement to like the other Apostles, but he particularly disliked Andrew Seaton – the Town Clerk of Hammersmith & Fulham Council reminded him of a slug. ‘He will be another Lord Lucan. People will speculate for many years to come about what may have happened to Lord Aaron of Shawcross, but only I will know. Oh, and of course the young lady has an idea, but that will soon be of no consequence.’

  Thaddeus pressed him. ‘You’ll give up the day job?’

  ‘I have already tendered my resignation.’

  A murmur rippled around the table, and a number of them nodded in appreciation.

  ‘You said a number of developments?’ Thomas asked. Fletcher Furnival – the Assistant Commissioner of Police – was a tall thin man, bald with a pasty complexion, and beady light-grey eyes that made people think he was half albino.

  ‘Good evening, Thomas. First, I would like recommendations to replace James.’

  A couple of the apostles signalled that they might have someone in mind.

  ‘Please write their details on a piece of paper, and after a thorough investigation the ideal candidate will be approached.’ They did as they were asked and three pieces of paper were passed along the table towards him.

  ‘Secondly, the young lady in question has been following me. She is a reporter with the London Standard, and Quigg’s number is in her mobile phonebook, so I think we can conclude that Quigg has not given up the fight.’ There was a hum of agreement.

  ‘Also, there was a failed attempt to kill the hacker hiding inside Quigg’s fort, and this failure was the cause of James’ demise. As a consequence, we have alerted Quigg to the fact that we are still pursuing him and his menagerie.’ There was a burst of laughter. Smiling at his own joke, which wasn’t the one they thought it was, he’d made it appear as if James had initiated the failed attempt on the hacker’s life instead of himself.

  ‘I will consult with Phillip, and we will move all our assets within the week.’ He looked at Phillip, who gave him a nod.

  ‘Lastly, it is time to put an end to Quigg and his meddling. For a time, James and I found the game amusing, but he is a persistent bastard who now jeopardises us all. I would like your approval to do what is necessary to rid our little group of this inconvenience?’

  ‘You are in charge now, Bartholomew,’ Andrew said. Roger Penhaligan, Queen’s Council worked with the Crown Prosecution Service and knew Quigg only too well from the witness box in court. ‘You must do what you feel is necessary to protect us all. We will support you in whatever course of action you decide to take.’

  There was a round of applause.

  Bartholomew dabbed at his eyes with a folded white handkerchief. He had them in the palm of his hand.

  ‘Very kind, Andrew. Thank you all for your support. Now, I think, if you are staying for the minor distraction, please follow me.’ He stood up. ‘Otherwise, I will see you at the Last Supper on the last day of the month.’

  He said goodbye to six of the Apostles. Four had decided to partake of Miss Emma Potter.

  ***

  They had strung her up by her wrists like an offering to some unnamed god. Her feet barely touched the floor. She needed to pee again, she was thirsty, and worst of all she was so terribly frightened. What were they going to do to her?

  Sir Peter Langham came into the room with four men. Oh God, please don’t let them hurt me.

  ‘Miss Potter, these four men are here to enjoy your ample charms, but before they do I want you to tell me everything.’

  ‘I don’t...’

  He put a finger to her lips. ‘Let’s not start off on the wrong foot, beautiful Emma.’ He took her glasses off and crushed them under foot. Then he brought a pointed knife into view with a serrated edge on one side, and ran the point gently over the skin under her left eye. ‘Do you think it would be painful if I pop one of your eyes out and leave it dangling by its stalk?’

  What choice did she have? Sooner or later she would talk, it was simply a matter of where the limit of her pain threshold resided. It would be better to tell him everything sooner, and have done with it. Rather than be a bleeding emaciated mess and still have divulged everything.

  ‘I’ve been investigating you for four months, ever since I saw a man following DI Quigg, who then reported to you.’

  He cut off the buttons of her blouse one by one. ‘And you’ve been working with Quigg?’

  ‘With the investigative reporter Ruth Lynch- Guevara.’

  The knife scythed along the seams of her blouse, and it fell to the floor. ‘Ah yes, the pregnant Miss Lynch-Guevara. And were you part of Quigg’s little harem?’

  God knows why, but she was offended. She wasn’t even attracted to Quigg. ‘Definitely not.’ He slipped the knife under the centre of her bra and yanked it upwards. The bra flew apart and her small firm breasts were there for all to see. She saw the four men glance at each other. One of them rubbed his crotch. Once, in her first year of university, she had allowed a boy to feel her naked breasts and bring her to orgasm with his fingers, but she had never been with a man in the biblical sense, she was still a virgin.

  ‘No matter. And what about the hacker, Uptown Girl?’ He signalled two of the other men to come and take her jeans off.

  They pulled off her slip-ons, yanked her jeans and knickers off, and Sir Peter cut through the straps of her bra. She hung there totally naked.

  ‘She doesn’t call herself that now.’

  ‘Oh?’

  ‘Her current online name is Torpedo Jane.’

  Bartholomew laughed. ‘Very apt, but now we’re going to blow Quigg and his three whores out of the water.’

  ‘That’s all I know.’

  ‘I believe you, my dear. And I’m glad. I find the knife so messy and crude.’ He turned to the four men. ‘She’s all yours gentlemen.’

  ‘Please don’t hurt me,’ she whimpered.

  ‘I am sure they will make your last night on earth very pleasurable, my dear, just hang there and enjoy it.’

  She heard Sir Peter laughing as he left the room. The four men had removed their clothes, and as two of them entered her – one from the front and one from the rear – she began to scream.

  ***

  Saturday, 26th May

  He woke up at four, made himself a coffee, and sat at the table to collect his thoughts. The first thing he had to do was get those lazy bitches up, and tell them how things were going to be. They were doing important work, and there was no time for squabbling among each other. He had wanted to talk to them last night, but it was clear nobody was in the mood for listening, and if he was being truthful he wasn’t really in the mood for talking. This morning would do. He’d get them motivated this m
orning, organise them, so that they were working like a well-oiled machine.

  At quarter past five he made his way back through the tunnel and into the atrium. He went into Duffy’s bedroom first and found all three of them in bed together. A few more minutes wouldn’t hurt, he thought. He used Ruth’s en suite to take a shave and shower, and then dressed ready for work.

  It was quarter to six when he returned to Duffy’s bedroom.

  Pulling the quilt off didn’t produce the desired results, so he traipsed through into the kitchen, filled a small pan with cold water, added some ice cubes from the freezer, and returned to Duffy’s bedroom.

  ‘If you’re not out of that bed by the time I count to five you’ll be drenched in freezing cold water. One...’

  There was some slight stirring, but none of them attempted to get out of bed.

  ‘...Two... Three... Four... Five.’ He tried to spread the water out evenly, but he felt sure Duffy – who was in the middle of the bed – got more than her fair share.

  There was loud squealing as they scrambled out of bed.

  ‘You’re trying to fucking kill us, aren’t you, Quigg?’ Lucy screamed.

  Ruth brushed the dripping water from her arms onto the carpet. ‘You cannot treat pregnant women like this, Quigg.’

  ‘Right, shut up all of you. It’s ten to six now, I want you sitting at the kitchen table by half past six, and make sure I have four pieces of toast and a coffee waiting for me, Lucy.’

  ‘What did your last fucking slave die of?’

  ‘Not doing as she was told, and don’t spit on the toast or I won’t tell you about Springfield.’

  ‘You don’t know...’

  ‘If you’re not there, I’ll come and drag you from wherever you are by your hair.’

  ‘Why are you being so masterful this morning, Sir?’ Duffy asked.

  ‘Because it’s time we got ourselves organised and stopped shilly-shallying around like a bunch of amateurs.’ He clapped his hands. ‘Time’s ticking away, ladies.’