The Skulls Beneath Eternity Wharf (Quigg Book 4)

by Tim Ellis

  She knew, of course. Turned a blind eye to his strange ways. Led her own life, which wasn’t too far away from his own in all honesty, and he’d helped her along that path.

  They’d had an argument. He’d been angry. Never before had he hit her, but that night he’d beaten her within an inch of her life, and she’d loved it. Afterwards, he’d forced her to have anal sex. Once she’d recovered from her injuries, she wanted him to beat her again, but he wasn’t a sadist, and women really didn’t turn him on. He liked young boys, and that’s just the way it was. So she’d found what she needed elsewhere, and he’d let her, pursuing his own little hobbies. And in the end, they were happy together.

  ‘Yes, it’s been a long day, dear. An hour in my study, and then I’ll be going up.’

  ‘I’m going out. A charity do, but I’ll be back before midnight.’

  That’s what she called her trips to the club – a charity do. He had an idea what went on in the Torture Chateau, but he’d never accompanied her. He didn’t like pain under any circumstances, and that’s what she went to the S & M Club for – pain, and lots of it. He’d seen the orgasmic look in her eye when he’d beaten her. God only knew how being beaten could turn anyone on. The whole idea of it made his skin crawl.

  ‘Have a nice time, dear,’ he said and kissed her on the cheek.

  Once she’d gone, he retired to his study to watch a DVD from his secret collection. Tomorrow he would contact Phillip, and together they would carry out a review of the Apostle’s business affairs. It was certainly long overdue. Retiring from the Police Complaints Committee with immediate effect had been the right thing to do. Now that he was head of the Apostles, the position had outlived its usefulness. He wasn’t getting any younger, and it would give him considerably more time to focus on his new role.

  Not tonight though, tonight he had other plans. Watching those four enjoy themselves with the skinny Emma Potter had reminded him that he needed some enjoyment also, and tonight he would practise self-gratification.

  ***

  He arrived at Halcyon Security at five to six, and realised he’d neglected his dietary needs again – he was famished. Maybe he could call in at a pub before he went to visit Walsh and get an Early Bird meal.

  Once he’d been through the metal detector, and they’d frisked him, he was shown into a meeting room. Not only were Maggie Sheahan-Parry and Tony Carter there, but there were another four people making the place look crowded. He was introduced to everyone.

  ‘Don’t mind them,’ Maggie said. ‘They’re newly employed university graduates. We use these sessions for training purposes, and to brainstorm. There are also no issues regarding a breach of confidentiality. I can vouch for everyone in this room.’

  ‘Okay,’ he said, but his mind was focused on the table full of sandwiches and titbits to his left.

  ‘Help yourself to the refreshments.’

  ‘Just what I needed,’ he said, piling sandwiches, tiny pizzas, two slices of quiche, and sausages on a stick onto a plate. He’d come back for the coffee later.

  Tony began the presentation with an arial photograph of St Thomas’ Church on Godolphin Road in Shepherd’s Bush. He explained the brief, and the existing security arrangements, and then invited suggestions on how security might be improved.

  ‘Shouldn’t there be a threat analysis carried out first?’ one of the two women asked.

  ‘Excellent,’ Tony said. ‘The threat comes from a group outside who will stop at nothing to either kill those inside, and/or destroy a computer network.’

  ‘When you say this group will, "Stop at nothing" – are you talking about air raids, helicopter assaults, mortars, and things like that?’ one of the young men asked with a monotonous Birmingham accent.

  Tony Carter smiled. ‘No, this is a residential area in Shepherd’s Bush not the Peruvian jungle. Their previous attempt was to bribe the guard who left the gate open, and they sent in a man to kill the person they wanted. Surprisingly, she escaped unharmed, and the assassin was shot and also managed to escape. That’s why we have been called in?’

  ‘Do we need to know what’s going on in this residence?’

  ‘No. All you need to know is that they’re doing important work, and the group wants them to stop doing that work.’

  And so it went on. After thirty-five minutes a series of layered security measures were outlined. These measures included high-speed steel barriers on all windows and external doors of the church and chapel, stainless steel wire-mesh weave in the attic cavities, enhanced tamper-proof CCTV coverage, improved lighting, bullet-proof glass in all the windows, internal infra-red sensors, and armoured electricity and fibre optic cabling from the source.

  He was pleased and impressed. These people knew what they were doing, and the price for this was also impressive. He was sure the Apostles could afford it. The thought of wiping that smirk off Langham’s face jumped into his mind as he signed the contract.

  ‘You won’t be sorry you came to Halcyon Security,’ Maggie Sheaham-Parry said.

  ‘At that price I would hope not,’ he said with a smile to indicate he was joking. ‘I’ll need your bank details to set up a transfer.’

  She passed him a copy of the contract. ‘They’re on the last page. Oh, and we’ll keep the underground tunnel between the two buildings just between us,’ Maggie said.

  His brow furrowed. ‘How...?’

  ‘As you would expect, we also check for underground access using ground penetrating sonar, which provides us with a three-dimensional map of what’s going on beneath the surface to a depth of three metres.’

  ‘I hadn’t thought of that. We’re the only ones that know about that tunnel. It’s not even on the blueprints. That’s what saved Lucy’s life when they sent the assassin in to kill her.’

  ‘The secret’s safe with us. As a final refuge it’s ideal.’

  With that he thanked her and Tony Carter, and left.

  ***

  He arrived at Hammersmith Hospital at five past seven. Visiting time began at seven, so those lazy good-for-nothing nurses had better provide him with the time of day tonight, he thought.

  When he reached the Frank Bruno ward, the nurses’ station was surprisingly empty. He walked straight into Walsh’s room to find that empty also. Maybe she’d been taken to x-ray, was being given an enema, or something similar. His heart rate increased when he began to think of the alternative.

  He stood at the nurses’ station, but nobody came. The bell that had been there last time wasn’t available tonight. As he wandered up and down the ward, he began to feel like the Captain of a sinking ship. Where was everybody?

  ‘Inspector Quigg?’

  He turned. It was Doctor Iacobellis.

  ‘Good evening, Doctor. Where is everyone?’

  She gripped his elbow. ‘Miss Walsh has been taken back to the operating theatre.’

  He felt faint. ‘What’s wrong?’

  She took a turn for the worse a couple of hours ago, but thankfully that coincided with Doctor Keelan’s arrival from Switzerland.’

  ‘How bad is it?’

  ‘I’m sorry to say, it’s touch and go whether she’ll make it through the night.’

  ‘But... I was talking to her last night. Christ, she’s only got a broken leg.’

  ‘The wound is seriously infected, I’m afraid. We might have to remove her leg to save her life.’

  ‘Crap! I promised her she wouldn’t lose her leg.’

  ‘I’m sorry, but it wasn’t your promise to make.’

  ‘I know, but you didn’t seem to be making any promises.’

  ‘That’s because we knew it might come to this.’

  ‘Should I wait?’

  ‘No, go home. I’ll call you as soon as we know anything. If anyone can save her life and her leg, Doctor Keelan can. She is pioneering a controversial new treatment in cases like this.'

  ‘Oh?’

  ‘A high-pressure clean, although it’s a bit more sophisticated
than that. Followed by a massive dose of antibiotics to kick-start the immune system.’

  ‘Thanks, Doctor.’ He felt sick. Where the hell was Robert Muchamore? Wasn’t he meant to be her boyfriend? Did Walsh have any relatives? He didn’t know, and he should know – she was his partner for God’s sake.

  Outside he phoned DI Muchamore.

  ‘Where the hell are you?’

  ‘At work.’

  ‘Oh! Do you know Walsh has been taken back to theatre?’

  ‘I’m sorry to hear that, but it’s not my concern anymore. We’re history.’

  ‘What do you mean – history?’

  ‘I’m not very good with sick people, Quigg. Never have been since my mother died of cancer. At the very least, she’ll have horrible scars on her leg. It’s no good trying to pretend I could live with that – I couldn’t. I told her last night that we were finished.’

  ‘You bastard. The one time she needs you, and you desert her.’

  ‘Sorry, that’s just the way it is. Now, if there’s nothing else I have work to do?’

  He ended the call and deleted Muchamore’s number from his phonebook. He’d have beaten the bastard to a pulp if he’d been standing in front of him. He phoned the Chief and told him what was happening.

  ‘That’s not how it’s meant to go, Quigg.’

  ‘I know. They’re doing everything they can to save her leg, and then her life. I wonder if she’d want to live with one leg.’

  ‘Life’s precious, Quigg. Even with one leg.’

  ‘Yeah,’ but he wondered if he’d want to live with one leg. ‘You don’t happen to know if Walsh has got any relatives, do you?’

  ‘I vaguely recall a mother.’

  ‘Thanks, Chief. I’ll give you a ring tomorrow when I know more.’

  ‘How’s everything else?’

  He wondered whether to drop Jones in the shit, but he knew the bastard would probably come out smelling like mama’s homemade apple pie with a cherry on top. ‘Bowl of spaghetti springs to mind.’

  ‘Same as usual then?’

  ‘Yes.’

  He returned to the Frank Bruno ward. Staff Nurse Lucas was propping up the nurses’ station.

  ‘Has Doctor Iacobellis spoken to you?’ she asked him.

  ‘Yes.’

  She touched his arm. ‘I’m sorry. I hope she makes it.’

  ‘Thanks.’

  ‘It’ll be a long wait.’

  ‘No, I came back to find out who Walsh put down as her next of kin?’

  ‘Are you a relative?’

  ‘Don’t bloody...’ He saw a brief smile cross her lips.

  ‘Something to lighten the moment,’ she said finding Walsh’s hospital records. ‘She’s put her mother as next of kin, but she’s also added that she shouldn’t be contacted except in the event of her death.’

  ‘What’s the point of putting down a next of kin no one can contact until you’re dead?’

  Staff Nurse Lucas shrugged. ‘Maybe there are issues?’

  ‘Yeah, Walsh is certainly a woman with issues. Give me the details.’

  ‘I don’t know...’

  ‘I’ll take full responsibility. Even if they use a red-hot melon ball scoop to take out my eyeballs, I won’t reveal who gave me the information.’

  ‘That’s the least I would expect.’ She gave him the address and telephone number.

  ‘Thanks, and tell the other nurses that Walsh is...’

  ‘She won’t come back here for a few days.’

  ‘Oh?’

  ‘No, afterwards they’ll take her to the ICU until she’s out of danger.’

  ‘Okay. Thanks anyway.’

  He wandered outside again. It was quarter to eight. Didn’t he have something to do at eight o’clock? He racked his brain, but it wouldn’t come to him, so he rang Duffy.

  ‘Where are you, Sir?’

  ‘I’m at the hospital.’ He told her about Walsh.

  ‘I hope she’ll be okay. I’ll pray for her.’

  ‘Thanks, Duffy. Are you at home?’

  ‘No, we’re on our way home now. Ruth and I have been to your mum’s... well, the house where your mum is staying.’

  ‘I’ve been disinherited, haven’t I?’

  Duffy laughed. ‘No, once we got past you being the father of Ruth’s baby as well, and us all living in the same house, she was overjoyed at the idea of having three grandchildren.’

  ‘You didn’t tell her about Lucy?’

  ‘No, I think that would have been too much.’

  ‘Or Cheryl?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘Or Gwen Taylor?’

  ‘No. I’ve left all the weird stuff to you.’

  ‘It’s all weird stuff, Duffy. Anyway, I’m wondering what to do next, but I have a nagging feeling I should be somewhere at eight o’clock – any ideas?’

  ‘That was last night. You wanted a meeting, and you asked Ruth to arrange for Emma Potter to be here, but...’

  ‘Of course. Has Ruth heard from her? She was following Langham, wasn’t she?’

  He heard Duffy talking to Ruth who must have been driving.

  ‘She says no, she’s heard nothing.’

  ‘Didn’t Emma say she’d ring today?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Then why hasn’t she? Well, it doesn’t look like we’ll be meeting tonight, so I’m going to go see Walsh’s mother and let her know what’s going on. Ring Emma Potter, find out what she’s playing at, and then ring me back.’

  ‘Okay. See you later, Sir.’

  He hoped Emma Potter was all right. What was she doing following Langham anyway? And where the hell was he going? Hadn’t he told her not to get too close? Why hadn’t she rung?

  His phone vibrated.

  ‘It’s me, Sir. There’s no answer. I keep getting directed to her voicemail. I’ve left a message.’

  ‘Thanks, Duffy. See you later.’

  He had a bad feeling about Emma Potter.

  ***

  Mrs Joyce Walsh lived at 35 Bessborough Place in Pimlico, and he decided that driving there would be more trouble than it was worth. He pulled off the A219 and parked up in a side road near Shepherd’s Bush tube station.

  He caught the train to Oxford Circus. Shepherd’s Bush was on the Central Line, and Pimlico was on the Victoria Line. The simplest route between the two stations was via Oxford Circus.

  The journey was certainly less stressful than driving through London at night. It gave him time to think. God, he hoped Walsh was going to be okay. That bastard who rigged the explosion had a lot to answer for. Why hadn’t Walsh mentioned her mother? What had happened to her father? No doubt he would find out tonight.

  The journey took him thirty-five minutes, which was a lot quicker than if he’d come by car. He turned left out of the station and walked down Bessborough Street to the corner of the Officer for National Statistics. There, he crossed over into Bessborough Place and found No.35 easily enough. There were lights on in the tenement house. He knocked.

  Walsh’s mum was in her early fifties with short brown hair greying at the sides. She was thin, but looked healthy – as if she did sport on a daily basis.

  ‘Mrs Walsh?’

  ‘And you are?’

  He showed her his warrant card. ‘Detective Inspector Quigg.’

  ‘If it’s about my daughter I don’t want to know.’

  He thought she sounded bitter.

  ‘She might be dying.’

  ‘Let me know when she’s dead.’

  Quigg’s mouth dropped open.

  ‘Don’t think about judging me, Inspector Quigg. You don’t know what I’ve had to put up with from that girl.’

  ‘I’m not judging you, Mrs Walsh. All I know is that family is everything. Heather is my partner on the Murder Investigation Team at Hammersmith Police Station, and she was injured on Thursday evening in an explosion.’

  ‘What do you want from me?’

  ‘Well, I came here to tell you what was happening to
Heather, and to see if I could be of any help.’

  ‘Thank you for coming. I’m sure that if my daughter knew you were here she would be very angry. We agreed long ago to go our separate ways. If she does die please let me know, and I’ll arrange the funeral. Now, if there’s nothing else? Goodnight Inspector Quigg.’ With that, she shut the door.

  Of all the welcomes he imagined, that particular one was not listed in the catalogue. How had a mother and daughter become so estranged? Well, he’d tried his best.

  Tears came to his eyes as he sat down on the doorstep of No.35. He’d been up since God only knew what time, and now he felt bone weary and very sad. Walsh had no one now to fight her corner except him.

  He took out his mobile and found Mrs Crenshaw’s number.

  ‘The Crenshaw residence. Mrs Margaret Crenshaw speaking?’

  ‘Hi Maggie, it’s Quigg. Is my mum there?’

  ‘Beryl, it’s that boy of yours with the runaway tadpoles.’

  He heard laughter.

  ‘Is that you Quigg?’

  ‘Yes, mum.’

  ‘I’m surprised you’ve got the nerve...’

  ‘I just rang to say I love you, mum.’

  ‘Get away with you, you soppy bugger. I’m sure there’s something wrong with you.’

  ‘Goodnight, mum.’

  ‘Don’t you say goodnight, Quigg. I want to talk to you. Did you know...’

  He ended the call. It would be at least ten minutes before she realised that he’d gone.

  Chapter Fourteen

  Sunday, 27th May

  They’d all been in bed when he arrived home at quarter to ten. He’d had no idea whose bed he was meant to be sleeping in, so he crawled in with Ruth and slept right through until six-thirty.

  He enjoyed the quiet of early mornings. After a leisurely shave and shower he got dressed and made himself toast and coffee. If the truth were told, he was still stunned by Mrs Walsh’s reaction. He had received some good news though. Doctor Iacobellis had left him a voicemail message at quarter past midnight saying that Walsh was out of theatre and out of danger – for the moment anyway. She still had her leg, and now they were playing a waiting game. The next forty-eight hours were critical, but didn’t they always say that?