The Skulls Beneath Eternity Wharf (Quigg Book 4)

by Tim Ellis

  ‘I’ve said I’ll drive.’

  ‘Ain’t gonna happen, Mister.’

  ‘While you’re waiting for me you can make a couple of phone calls to save us some time.’

  ‘Oh, I’m your personal assistant now?’

  ‘I’m sure I’ve explained this before, but here’s how it works. You can do as I say, or you can go back to the reject bin. I can easily find someone who wants to be my partner. What’s it to be?’

  She pulled out her notebook. ‘Who do you want me to phone?’

  ‘Charing Cross Hospital. We’ll go there after we’ve been to the Hammersmith. See if you can arrange a meeting with the Chief Executive for eleven o’clock...’

  ‘It’s Saturday, you know.’

  ‘If someone refuses to co-operate with an ongoing police investigation explain to them that we might think they’re involved, and obtain a warrant to turn their lives upside down.’

  ‘I see, we treat everyone like criminals until they prove they’re innocent?’

  ‘You’ll soon get the hang of this. Tell whoever you speak to that I also want a current staff list, and details of the staff who have left in the last twenty years.’

  Kline made a noise with her lips. ‘You’ll be lucky.’

  ‘If we don’t ask, we won’t get. You never know, they might have the records lying around somewhere just waiting for us to snap them up. Next, contact Thames Water. Ask them if they have the blueprints for the sewers between Eternity Wharf and Charing Cross Hospital, and say we’d like someone to escort us down there about two o’clock this afternoon.’

  ‘What, both of us?’

  ‘No, just you.’

  ‘Me?’

  ‘Of course, both of us.’

  ‘I don’t know if I...’

  ‘Yes you do. You want to remain a detective, and you want to stay as my partner. So, after we’ve been to Charing Cross we’ll be going to see Adrian Chapman’s wife at 86 Colehill Lane in Fulham. You’ll have to find out the postcode for the satnav. And that’s our day mapped out. I’ll nip to the toilet, you go and tell the Duty Sergeant to release the wheel clampers, and we’ll be on our way.’

  ‘Prisoners are treated better,’ he heard her mumble as they both went in different directions.

  ***

  Doctor Marie Iacobellis had long frizzy dark brown hair past her shoulders, which had been pinned back behind her ears. She had light brown skin, a wide mouth, and looked Italian.

  ‘Is Walsh going to lose her leg?’ Quigg asked her.

  ‘I understand from Staff Nurse Lucas that you’re not a relative?’ She spoke perfect English, but with a slight accent.

  ‘No, but here’s the deal, Doctor. You pretend I am, or I’ll make your life a misery.’

  ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘I’ll speak to my friends in traffic about stopping your car every time it moves. The drug squad will be interested in the stash of cocaine you have in your house, and then there’s the child porn your boyfriend has on his computer that I’ll have to report to vice...’

  ‘That’s abusing your position...’

  He held up his hand. ‘Let’s cut out the crap, Doctor. Walsh is my partner. I want her to stay as my partner. To do that she needs both legs. Is she going to lose one of those legs?’

  ‘I don’t know, but possibly.’

  ‘I have access to considerable financial resources. If we get the very best specialist in the world here, will he know?’

  ‘It certainly wouldn’t do any harm.’

  ‘Then get him...’

  ‘It’s a she... Doctor Fiona Keelan – an American – from the Ochsner Clinic in Lucerne, Switzerland.’

  ‘Get her here today, and send me the bill.’

  ‘How do I know you’ve got the money?’

  ‘Give me the details of the hospital’s bank account, and I’ll make an electronic transfer of £100,000.’

  ‘Are you sure?’

  ‘I’m sure. I also want you to arrange it so that when I ring up and ask how Walsh is, I’m told how she is, and not given the run-around because I’m not a relative.’

  ‘I can do that.’

  ‘Good.’ He wrote his mobile number on a page in his notebook, ripped it out, and passed it to her. ‘Any problems please ring me. I know it’s not visiting hours, but I’m going to pop in and have a quick word with Walsh, and then I’ll be back at about six tonight.’

  Doctor Iacobellis nodded. ‘I need to make a phone call.’

  Walsh had her eyes closed.

  ‘Are you sleeping again?’

  ‘A woman needs rest and recuperation after working for you.’

  ‘Make the most of it, Walsh, you’ll soon be back in the firing line. I’ve just spoken to your doctor, and told her I want you back to work within three months.’

  ‘And she said?’

  ‘They’re getting a specialist in. I made the point that waiting two days is not good enough. She agreed, and they’re now being proactive rather than waiting until the proverbial hits the fan.’

  ‘How did you get them to do that, Sir? You do know this is a cash-strapped NHS hospital, don’t you?’’

  ‘You know women find me irresistibly attractive. Anyway, you sleep while you can, and I’ll be back later to annoy you.’

  ‘I can’t wait.’

  He decided to pop up to the ICU and see if Lisa Evans had made it through the night. When he got there, she had regained consciousness, and he was allowed in for five minutes.

  ‘I’m glad you made it,’ he said.

  ‘I wish I hadn’t. Bobby didn’t, and I’m completely paralysed from the waist down. What type of life will I have now?’

  ‘I’m sorry to have to ask you, but I need to know if you saw anything after you fell through the floor.’

  ‘I don’t know if I did, or maybe I didn’t. It might have been something I dreamt. I have a vague memory of a gloved hand coming towards me. There was a tattoo on the forearm like one of those heraldry things people use for their names, and it had a "10" inside.’

  ‘You mean like a coat of arms?’

  ‘Yes, that’s what I saw.’

  ‘Thank you, Lisa, and I hope...’

  ‘What? That I get better? I’m going to be in a wheelchair for the rest of my life. I just hope I die.’

  He squeezed her leg, but then realised as he made his way out that she wouldn’t have felt it.

  Chapter Eleven

  A coat of arms with a "10" inside. Did it help him? Nothing came to mind, but he had an idea if everything else failed. Usually, a coat of arms contained a lot more than a number. In fact, he couldn’t remember ever having seen a coat of arms with a number inside. Roman numbers maybe, but not Arabic numbers. He rang Perkins as Kline navigated through the early Saturday shopping traffic on the A219 in Shepherd’s Bush.

  ‘You think I’m sitting here with my feet up?’

  ‘Is the worm turning?’

  ‘Sorry. The father and son team has pulled out. They’ve had a death in the family, and now is not a convenient time.’

  ‘You think it’s an excuse?’

  ‘Who knows? What I do know, is that I’ve got to find someone else to venture down that hole.’

  ‘Don’t we have police divers? Or, maybe the Army?’

  ‘Why didn’t I think of that?’

  ‘You haven’t got my imagination?’

  ‘That could be it. So, you want me to send a forensic artist to the hospital, get Lisa Evans to describe the tattoo so the artist can draw it, and then contact the heraldic society to see if they can help us?’

  ‘You’ve got it in one.’

  ‘I’m sure I deserve a pay rise.’

  ‘I wouldn’t make any holiday plans, Perkins.’

  The call ended.

  ‘Perkins is overworked and underpaid, Kline.’

  ‘Aren’t we all.’

  Kline had managed to get the Chief Executive – a Mrs Elizabeth Fox – to come into the hospital on a Saturd
ay morning, and she was waiting for them in reception. When they arrived at Charing Cross Hospital, Quigg persuaded Kline not to park in a consultant’s parking space, but to park in the visitor’s car park like a normal person.

  ‘They wouldn’t dare clamp me again,’ she said.

  He believed her.

  Elizabeth Fox was a thin woman in her mid-forties with short blonde hair and an easy smile. She wore a black trouser suit and a lime green top to break it up.

  ‘Detective Inspector Quigg,’ he said aiming his hand.

  ‘Elizabeth Fox – call me Liz.’

  They shook hands. He introduced Kline. Then they followed her along a short corridor and into a spacious office with a mahogany conference table to the right behind the door. She directed them into easy chairs and offered pre-made coffee or tea – Quigg accepted, Kline refused.

  ‘How can I help?’

  Quigg told her briefly about the elaborate cavern system, the dead bodies, and that it had begun in 1891. He didn’t go into details relating to the torture, the skulls, and the journals.

  ‘And you’re saying the entrance and exit is underneath this hospital?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘You’ll have to show me.’

  Quigg and Kline took her down there to the old boiler room and showed her the doorway. They then returned to her office.

  ‘I don’t know what to say,’ she said. ‘I’ll obviously have to call a Board of Trustees emergency meeting. Have you informed the press about that doorway?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘My God, and this has been going on for over a hundred years?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘I’m speechless.’

  But she wasn’t speechless at all. Quigg wondered if she actually needed a Board of Trustees, or whether she could play every board member herself.

  ‘Mrs Fox...?’

  ‘Yes, just one moment, Inspector. I have a million things to do now.’ She moved to her desk and pressed a button on the intercom system. ‘Janice, please call an emergency board meeting for four o’clock this afternoon, and arrange a press conference for six o’clock.’

  ‘Liz...?’ He raised his voice slightly.

  ‘You’re not shouting at me, are you, Inspector?’

  ‘This visit is a matter of courtesy only. I understand that you must inform the Board of Trustees, but I have two killers to catch. Also, you need to cancel the press conference. I’ll let you know when you can talk to the press about this. As I said, publicly the hospital is in no way implicated in what we’ve found beneath Eternity Wharf. It might be that the killers are merely using that door as an entry/exit, but it might be something a lot more sinister.’

  ‘Yes, you’re right, Inspector. I’m getting ahead of myself.’ She pressed the intercom again. ‘Cancel the press conference, Janice.’

  She sat down again. ‘Surely you don’t think the killers work here?’

  ‘We don’t think anything at the moment. It’s early days, and we’re examining all the options. However...’

  ‘That sounds ominous.’

  ‘You’ll agree that the door in the Mental Health wing that leads down to the old boiler room is in a very obscure place. For someone to wander in off the street and find that door would be pretty remote.’

  ‘Sir?’ Kline butted in.

  They both looked at her.

  ‘I think we need to go back to 1891. Was the hospital even built then?’

  Liz Fox nodded. ‘It was first established in 1818 by Dr Benjamin Golding.’

  Kline pulled out the piece of paper Perkins had provided with the initials and dates on it. ‘BG isn’t on the list,’ she said to Quigg.

  ‘What list?’ Mrs Fox asked.

  ‘We have a list of each of the killer’s initials dating from 1891 to the present day,’ Quigg replied, but he didn’t expand. To Kline he said, ‘You’re thinking that whoever started all this off obtained the key and then simply passed it along?’

  Kline pulled a face. ‘I’m not sure I like you inside my head.’

  ‘What about the Mental Health wing?’ Quigg asked Liz Fox. ‘When was that built?’

  ‘That was part of a major expansion in 1888.’

  Quigg and Kline looked at each other.

  ‘Three years before it started,’ Kline said.

  ‘That would certainly coincide with the beginning of the murders. I don’t suppose you have details of who built it?’

  ‘Yes, we have all the records in our archives.’

  ‘We’ll need to see them.’

  ‘Of course, but I’m quite sure that the door behind the old boilers isn’t on the blueprints. I suspect that was added afterwards.’

  ‘Possibly, but we need to look anyway.’

  ‘I don’t suppose you have a list of the staff who were here in 1891?’ Kline asked.

  Liz Fox laughed. ‘I have no idea. We do, however, have extensive archives. You would normally have to go through a convoluted rigmarole to gain access, but considering you’re the police I’ll contact the archivist – Mrs Heather Ross – and organise direct access. Entry to the archives is on Exhibition Road in Knightsbridge, near the Victoria and Albert Museum.’

  ‘Thank you,’ Quigg said. ‘We’ve got a full day today, and I know it’s Sunday tomorrow, but what about Mrs Ross meeting us there at ten o’clock tomorrow morning?’

  ‘I’m sure something can be arranged.’

  He passed Liz Fox his card. ‘My number is on there if you have any problems. Also, could I get a current staff list?’

  ‘You can have mine, I’ll get a new one from Human Resources on Monday.’ She went to a drawer of her desk, withdrew a thick plastic folder, and passed it to Quigg.

  ‘One final thing. I’d like to talk to your security staff about obtaining copies of CCTV recordings for Thursday. Yesterday, we walked straight through the hospital, into the Mental Health wing, and down to the old boiler room without being challenged.’

  ‘This is a hospital, Inspector. That’s what people do. They walk in off the street, go to wherever it is they need to go, and then they walk right out again. Can you imagine the chaos if everyone was challenged? Mostly, free access works, but sometimes there is an incident. That’s why we employ security staff.’ She went to her desk and pressed the button on the intercom again. ‘Ask Julian Perks to come and see me.’

  ‘Thank you,’ Quigg said. ‘When you have your meeting this afternoon, I’d like you to stress that all the information I’ve provided is confidential for the moment. I understand that this could have implications for the hospital, so I’ll keep you in the loop. What if I come back at two o’clock on Monday afternoon and update you?’

  She had a look in her diary and pressed the intercom again. ‘Me again, Janice. Can you shift Chloe Semple to three o’clock on Monday? She’ll moan, but tell her it’s either that or three weeks on Wednesday.’ She laughed. ‘No, but she doesn’t know that.’ She turned back to them, but before she could speak there was a knock on the door just before it opened.

  A telegraph pole in a security uniform ducked his head under the doorframe, and entered a few steps into the room. ‘You wanted to see me, Ma’am.’

  ‘Ah, Julian, thanks very much for coming.’

  She introduced Julian to Quigg and Kline, and explained what they wanted.

  Quigg didn’t think the square-jawed mountain of a man looked like a Julian, but then he didn’t look like a person with his first name either.

  Quigg thanked Liz Fox for her co-operation, and they followed Julian out into the corridor. He led them back through reception and along more winding corridors.

  ‘This is about the skulls you’ve found beneath Eternity Wharf, isn’t it, Inspector?’

  ‘Yes, and we think he’s getting in and out of the cavern system through a doorway in the old boiler room underneath the Mental Health wing.’

  Julian shrugged. ‘There are no cameras down there.’

  ‘I don’t suppose you have any problems wi
th security?’ Kline said.

  ‘You’d be surprised. Because I’m so big, everyone wants a go. They see me as a challenge.’

  He arrived at the security office, which was a large room containing a whole wall of cameras. A man sat at a worktop with a computer, and Quigg knew he wouldn’t have liked his job.

  Julian placed a giant hand on the man’s shoulder. ‘This is Graham Long, he’s one of our CCTV experts. This is Detective Inspector Quigg and his partner, Graham. They’d like a copy of the recordings from Thursday. Apparently, those skulls they’ve found beneath Eternity Wharf are something to do with this hospital, and someone’s using the old boiler room under the Mental Health wing to get down there.’

  ‘There are no cameras down there,’ Graham said.

  ‘Yes, we know,’ Quigg said. ‘But recordings around that area might give us a clue.’

  ‘Okay, no problem.’ He worked while he spoke. ‘Everything is archived on hard disc for three months, and then I zip it and put it on a DVD. You’ll need a Viewer, so you can look at the recording, and there we are.’ He passed Quigg a DVD in a plastic case.

  ‘Very efficient,’ Quigg said.

  ‘The weirdoes you get in this place, we’ve got to be on the ball,’ Graham said. ‘Isn’t that right, Julian?’

  ‘Too true.’

  ‘Listen guys, I’d appreciate it if you could keep any mention of the access point under the Mental Health wing confidential for the moment. Not only could it damage the hospital, but we don’t want any of those weirdoes making their way down there.’

  ‘Yeah, we’ll keep schtum,’ Julian said.

  ‘Thanks.’

  ***

  Outside in the car park they found the car where Kline had left it.

  ‘Isn’t it a lot better to come back and find the car still here?’

  ‘Does it make you feel big winding me up?’

  They climbed in the car.

  ‘Did you get the postcode to Chapman’s address?’

  ‘Do I look stupid to you?’

  He had a feeling he was making progress.

  Kline pulled up outside 86 Colehill Lane in Fulham at twenty past eleven. It was a semi-detached house with a small front garden and hanging baskets either side of the front door.