by Tim Ellis
Quigg knocked and the door opened.
‘Yeah, we’ll be with you in a moment,’ a teenage girl with sunglasses perched on her head said. ‘Come on, mum. The taxi’s here.’
‘Sorry to disappoint you, but we’re the police,’ Quigg said holding up his warrant card.
‘Mum, it’s the oinks.’
A woman in a calf-length sleeveless summer dress came to the door smiling. ‘I’m sorry, kids today have no respect for the law.’
‘That’s all right, we’re used to it.’
‘They should bring back hanging,’ Kline muttered.
‘I’m DI Quigg and this is DC Kline. Be assured that the majority of the police force does not share her views on the issue of capital punishment.’
‘Oh, I’m with her on that one, especially those child molesters. Hang them first, and ask questions later. That’s my view.’
‘Yes well.’ Quigg didn’t want to get drawn into a discussion about hanging or child molesters. ‘We’re here about your husband.’
‘You’ll have to be quick. We’re expecting a taxi any minute. Off on holiday for two weeks to Cyprus.’
‘Do you mind if we come in?’
‘I suppose, but don’t think I’m making coffee or anything, I’ve cleaned everything up. I can offer you water?’
‘That won’t be necessary.’
Two boys aged about eight and ten were sitting on the sofa manipulating games’ consoles and ignoring the world around them.
‘Ryan! Kadan! Go and wait outside,’ Mrs Chapman said.
Like zombies, they stood up with their eyes still glued to the console screens, and walked out of the room.
‘It’s like being the mother of two aliens.’
‘We’re here about your husband, Adrian Chapman. He is your husband, isn’t he?’
‘In name only. I just haven’t bothered to get a divorce that’s all.’
‘I’m sorry to say that he’s dead. We found his body two days ago.’
‘It doesn’t surprise me. Did he drink himself to death?’
‘What makes you ask that?’
‘Adrian walked out on me five years ago, he couldn’t stand the pressure of work and providing for a family. He was an alcoholic. Well, anything that helped him get through the day really – glue, drugs, methylated spirits – you name it, he would use it. He came back once, maybe eighteen months after he had walked out. He’d been living on the streets. I gave him ten pounds, and told him never to come back – he never did. I’ve brought up three children on my own and they’re the better for it.’
‘I see, so you have no idea of his movements, where he used to stay, friends and so forth?’
‘Mum, the taxi’s here.’
‘None at all. Now, if you don’t mind, I have three eager children to take on holiday.’
‘What about your husband’s body?’ Kline asked.
‘Out of respect for him being the children’s father, I’ll bury him when I come back from holiday.’
Quigg and Kline left, and watched from the car as the Chapman family – minus a husband and father – departed on holiday in a taxi.
‘Strange woman,’ Kline said.
‘It takes all types. What are your parents like?’
‘Don’t think you can sneak in a question here and a question there, and I’ll forget and let some information slip. I’m wise to you now, Sir. You’re like a computer virus that wheedles its way into the workings, and waits to pounce.’
‘You think you’ve got the measure of me then?’
‘I know exactly what your game is, and I’m not playing.’
‘Oh well, what about lunch?’
‘You’re paying. I’m not going to pay under any circumstances, so make sure you’ve got enough money to pay for the both of us.’
‘I’m feeling magnanimous.’
‘Good, I’m pleased for you. And if you run out of the shop like you did yesterday, I’ll rugby tackle you from behind, and take the money out of your wallet.’
He laughed. ‘There won’t be any need for that. I said, I’ll pay.’
‘Just letting you know what to expect if you try any dirty tricks.’
‘So, what did that visit tell us?’
‘Nothing.’
‘What about Adrian Chapman sleeping rough?’
‘The killers could be targeting homeless people, but with only one victim to go on it’s too early to draw a conclusion.’
‘You’re beginning to sound like a detective, Kline.’
‘And you’re beginning to sound like a pompous ass.’
‘Is it me, or are you warming to me?’
‘You’re deluded.’
They pulled into the Southern Belle on Fulham Palace Road, which wasn’t far from Charing Cross Hospital. It was also close to the place that Kline had arranged to meet representatives of Thames Water who were escorting them into the sewers.
Quigg had a Guinness, and a hickory burger with French fries.
‘Seeing as you’re paying, I’ll have a tomato juice with a dash of Worcester sauce, and a grilled chicken sandwich.’
‘You’re trying to bankrupt me, aren’t you?’
‘I bet as a DI you’ve got loads of money.’
‘Yeah, I’m the last of the Rockafella Quiggs.’
***
‘You look a bit surprised, Sir,’ Kline said.
‘Surprised would be an understatement. I expected men, not women. Call me a dinosaur, but I hardly think shovelling shit is a suitable job for a woman.’
‘Women shovel men’s shit all the time.’
‘I should have expected that from you.’
‘And you were created before the dinosaurs. I think it was called the crustacean period.’
‘Thanks.’
‘You’re welcome.’
They were outside the access point on Margravine Road between Charing Cross Hospital and Hammersmith Cemetery. Fluorescent safety barriers had been erected around the manhole cover, and two female sewage workers were waiting for them.
‘Chief Inspector Quigg?’
He laughed. ‘I wish. It’s just Inspector. And you are?’
‘I’m Katja Sweeney.’ She pointed to her friend. ‘And this is Norma Wallace.’
‘Pleased to meet you. And I have a partner as well.’ He looked at Kline. ‘This is DC Tallie Kline. So, now that we’re all bosom buddies, tell me what the hell two women are doing working in the sewers? I bet you didn’t say, "I want to be a sewage worker" when they asked you at school what you wanted to be when you grew up?’
Sweeney laughed. ‘No, not really. We just fell into it.’
‘I hope that wasn’t literally. Okay, what do we do?’
They had to put on all-in-one plastic suits, waders with braces, hard hats with searchlights, and rubber gloves. Over all this paraphernalia they were then required to don a safety harness.
‘For climbing down the ladder in the manhole,’ Wallace explained. ‘It’s a twenty-foot drop. We wouldn’t want you to fall into a river of sewage, would we?’
‘Definitely not,’ Quigg said with meaning.
One by one they descended into the sewer.
‘Oh my God,’ Kline said. ‘I think I’m going to...’ she retched over the slowly moving river of foetid sewage.
‘You’ll get used to it,’ Wallace said.
‘No thank you,’ Kline said, spitting and wiping her mouth with the sleeve of her suit.
Sweeney shone her light in his face. ‘How far do you want to go?’
‘There’s a metal hatch in the right wall, I think.’
She shrugged, looked at Wallace, who also shrugged.
They set off along the tunnel. Quigg was glad that at this point there was a walkway on the left side, and the level of the sewage was reasonably low, but it wasn’t long before the walkway disappeared and they had to climb into the river.
‘I’m not sure I like this, Sir,’ Kline said.
‘Think of it as an experi
ence not many people get.’
‘Or want,’ Wallace added.
‘You’ll be able to tell your grandchildren that you spent a lovely afternoon wading through London’s sewers.’
‘If I ever have any, which seems extremely unlikely, I’m sure they’ll be really impressed.’
After twenty-five minutes they found the hatch.
‘Any idea what that is?’ Quigg asked Sweeney.
She shook her head. ‘Do you know, Norma?’
‘Never noticed it before.’
‘Well, on the other side of that hatch is a tunnel.’
‘There’s something on it, Sir.’
He shone his light over the hatch.
Kline pointed to a change in the surface of the metal at centre bottom.
Yes, he could see that there was something engraved into the iron, but it was covered in a thick fatty sludge.
‘Clear off that mess, Kline.’
‘Like that’s gonna fuckin’ happen.’
He looked at Sweeney and Wallace.
‘Ditto,’ Wallace said.
‘And I thought we were all equal now.’ He scraped the sludge off the hatch with his gloved hand, but it didn’t help much. In the end, he had no choice but to dip his hand in the water half a dozen times until the sludge liquefied and revealed what he guessed was a makers stamp – TC.
‘Any ideas?’ he asked Sweeney.
‘Nope. What about you, Norma?’
‘If you don’t know, then I’m not likely to know, am I?’ she said.
‘Write the two letters down,’ he said to Kline.
‘I think I can remember them.’
‘Is there another sewer running close to this one?’ he said to Sweeney, pointing to the hatch.
‘I thought you said there was a tunnel behind that?’
‘Yes, but on the other side of the tunnel there’s a hatch identical to this one.’
‘That’s something I do know. No, there’s only this sewer. If there’s another hatch, I have no idea where it goes. I’ve got copies of the original blueprints you asked for in the van. Maybe they show something. But if they do, I don’t know about it.’
‘Okay, thanks. Well, I think our work is done here. Unless you fancy a bit of skinny-dipping while we’re down here, Kline?’
Her lip curled up. ‘It’s tempting.’
Chapter Twelve
‘Are you sure we should be doing this?’ Ruth said to Duffy as they stood outside 23 Holme Road, off Ron Leighton Way in East Ham.
The door opened and they hadn’t even knocked. Maggie Crenshaw was standing in the doorway like an immovable object wearing a brown and yellow wrap around apron over a pink flowery dress, and large pink hair rollers under a hair net.
‘Hello, Mrs Crenshaw, I’m...’
Before she could finish, Maggie shouted over her shoulder, ‘Beryl, it’s that woman your son has got pregnant, and another... pregnant woman.’
‘Why don’t you tell the whole neighbourhood while you’re at it, Maggie Crenshaw.’
‘They already know, I’m trying to spread the news farther afield.’
‘And succeeding no doubt with that foghorn of a voice you’ve got. You should get down to the police station and register it as a lethal weapon.’
The thin white-haired Beryl appeared at the door in black trousers, and a black and grey cardigan.
‘Mavourneen, how lovely to see you. Come on in.’ She looked at Maggie standing next to her. ‘Are you going to move to one aside so that my guests can come in?’
‘I suppose I’ll have to, but this is not a halfway house where you can have visitors at all times of the day and night, you know, Beryl Quigg.’
‘It’s four o’clock in the afternoon, you old battleaxe. Make yourself useful and put some tea on.’
Maggie Crenshaw disappeared inside moaning for all she was worth.
‘Don’t mind Maggie, Mavourneen. There’s nothing she likes better than an audience. Come on in. I was only telling that useless son of mine yesterday that I never get to see you anymore, and when’s the baby due?’
‘In September, Beryl.’
They sat down in the front room.
‘And who’s this you’ve brought with you?’
‘This is Ruth.’
‘And you’re having a baby as well, how wonderful?’
‘It is Quigg’s baby.’
Beryl’s mouth dropped open, and she stared at Duffy. ‘Did you know about this, Mavourneen?’
‘Yes, I knew.’
‘Oh dear! I’ll have to emigrate to Greece or France. I’ll never survive on the muck they call food over there, but it’d be better than dying of embarrassment here. Two babies, you say?’
‘Yes, Beryl. We all live together in an old church.’
‘What, you mean sleeping in the pews, on the altar, and in the vestry?’
‘No, it has been made into a big house. Ruth lives in one half, and I live in the other.’
‘And what about Quigg?’
‘We share him.’
Beryl took Duffy’s hands between her own. ‘You poor girl. Not even married, and my son is forcing you to live in sin in a church. He’s the Devil incarnate.’
‘No, it is Mavourneen and I who choose to live as we do,’ Ruth said.
Beryl ignored Ruth. ‘I’ll speak to him. I blame his father for dying when Quigg was only eight years old. It affected him. No discipline, you see...’
‘What Ruth says is true, Beryl. We are the ones who decided to live as we are. We share everything. We’re happy, and Quigg’s happy.’ She decided to leave Lucy for another time.
The door creaked.
‘You’d better come in, Maggie Crenshaw before your ear gets stuck to that door.’
Maggie came in with a tray full of teapot, cups and saucers, and biscuits. ‘I’m sure I don’t know what you mean.’ She put the tray on the small table in front of the fire, and sat in the chair by the television. ‘And your baby is Quigg’s as well?’ she directed at Ruth.’
‘It is.’ Ruth said.
‘Well, I never. Shall I be mother?’ Maggie poured everyone tea.
‘We may as well let Maggie stay, she hasn’t got any family of her own... well, not here anyway. They moved to New Zealand to get away from her.’
‘It was that husband of hers, said he had a job over there. He should have gone, and left my Molly here. Men are evil. You really think your Quigg is the Devil incarnate, Beryl?’
‘I thought you weren’t listening at the door?’
‘I’ve never been so insulted in my own house.’
‘Yes you have, Maggie Crenshaw. Only last week...’
‘So, you both share this converted church with Quigg?’ Maggie said to Duffy.
‘Yes.’
‘Just wait ‘till they hear about your son’s goings on at the Darby & Joan, Beryl. It’ll perk up some of those old stick-in-the-muds, that’s for sure. So when is your baby due, Ruth?’
‘September.’
‘You’re both due in September?’ Beryl asked.
Ruth and Duffy nodded.
‘And Quigg knows about this?’
‘Yes he knows,’ Duffy said.
‘No wonder he’s been keeping himself scarce lately. Too ashamed to face me and tell me the terrible things he’s been doing to you two young girls.’
Duffy decided to try a different approach. ‘So, you’ll have another two grandchildren. Ruth thinks she’s having a boy, and I think I’m having a girl.’
‘A boy and a girl! Have you decided on names yet?’
‘No names yet, we thought we’d come round here and see what you thought.’
‘I’ve always liked the name Albert,’ Maggie said.
Beryl made a snorting sound and pulled a face. ‘Albert! That’s an old name. They don’t call children names like that anymore, they call them Wayne, or Kylie. Only last week I was reading about the names celebrities call their children – Jayden, Blue Ivy, and Bear Blu spring to mind
. I mean, who in their right mind would call a child Diva Thin Muffin Pigeen?’
Maggie laughed. ‘Then, of course, you’ve got Pixie and Trixiebell...’
‘...and Dixie,’ Beryl said.
They all burst out laughing.
‘What about the baby clothes?’ Beryl said sipping her tea. ‘You’ll need baby clothes – booties, mittens, hats, little jumpers, and... a boy and a girl, you say? I’ll have to get my knitting needles out.’
‘I’ll help,’ Maggie said. ‘We can crochet. I love to crochet.’
‘Will you, Maggie? You’re a dear friend. Mind you, you’ve got no grandchildren of your own to knit or crochet for, have you?’
‘That son-in-law of mine can’t beget, you know? Doctors say his tadpoles aren’t strong enough to swim the length of the pool. Not like your Quigg, his tadpoles just don’t know when to stop, do they?’
Maggie and Beryl burst out laughing again.
‘You don’t sound English, dear,’ Maggie said to Ruth. ‘And you have a very nice sun tan.’
‘I am from Cuba.’
‘Is that near the Isle of Wight?’ Beryl asked.
‘You silly old fool, Beryl Quigg,’ Maggie said. ‘Cuba is one of those islands off the coast of Scotland.’
Ruth looked at Duffy. Duffy rolled her eyes and gave a slight shake of her head. Telling the two women that Cuba was on the other side of the world would cause no end of problems.
‘Well, now that I’ll have three grandchildren, you can share mine.’
‘That’s very kind of you, Beryl Quigg. For the girl, I was thinking of Kate, you know, from the film "Kiss Me Kate"? I always loved that film.’
Duffy picked up her cup of tea and glanced at Ruth. She had a feeling they’d be lucky to get out of there before midnight.
***
‘I thought he’d never leave,’ Rachel Godwin – also known as Springfield – said to Lucy once Tony Carter had left, and she was inside the Chapel. ‘Too smarmy for my liking. Knows the security business inside out, but way too smarmy.’
‘I thought he was pleasant enough for an old man,’ Lucy said.
‘Yeah, that’s what I mean. He could have had your thong in his hand and you’d wonder how he got it.’
‘I don’t wear a thong.’
‘Have you checked? Maybe you gave it to him, but didn’t realise it?’