The Skulls Beneath Eternity Wharf (Quigg Book 4)

by Tim Ellis

  Kline’s face dropped. ‘You’re trying to kill me, aren’t you?’

  ‘This is what detectives do, Kline. We search out pieces of the puzzle, and fit them together. Sometimes, we have to wheedle our way into very strange places to find those pieces, but find them we will. What makes some puzzles particularly difficult is that the picture on the front of the box has been mislaid, and this is one of those puzzles. In fact, this puzzle has a difficulty level of ten because we have to work at both ends simultaneously.’

  They were close. The surrounding boxes contained the information they needed. Mrs Ross took everything upstairs and copied it for them, and then charged Quigg £10.70 for the privilege.

  ‘One final thing,’ Quigg said. ‘We’d like to know who built the Mental Health Wing in 1888.’

  Mrs Ross’ eyes narrowed. ‘You could have told me that before.’ She led them through a maze of passageways until they were standing in front of a five-drawer map cabinet in a corner of the basement. ‘Thankfully, this shouldn’t be too difficult,’ she said opening drawers from the top down and checking the dates on the architect drawings inside. In the third drawer she found what she wanted. ‘Here we are. The Mental Health Wing was designed by Decimus Burton, and built by David Maltby, Graeme Bell & Co.’

  ‘I don’t suppose...’

  ‘There are no other records relating to the builders,’ she said.

  ‘Thanks anyway. Could I have a copy of the architect’s drawing, please?’

  She nodded, but Quigg could see by her tight lips that they’d outstayed their welcome.

  Once she was happy that everything had been put back where it belonged – if happy was the right word to use in the vicinity of Mrs Ross – they returned to the surface.

  ‘We might have to come back,’ he said.

  ‘I’ll be out.’

  ‘I didn’t say when.’

  ‘It doesn’t matter, I’ll be out.’

  ‘Okay, well thanks for your help, and enjoy the rest of your weekend.’

  ‘Weekend! What do I know about weekends? They make me work seven days a week, and what do I get for sacrificing my best years, for putting my heart and soul into maintaining these archives? Peanuts, that’s what. And do you see any monkeys around here? No! No monkeys, only poor old Heather Ross, who has to keep coming to work for peanuts to live...’

  Quigg waited for a break in the flow, and then made his escape. Kline was right behind him.

  ‘She could complain for England,’ Kline said as they strolled to the car.

  ***

  They got back to the car at twenty past four and sat in it looking through the pages of information.

  ‘We can eliminate Andrei Pandele,’ Kline said. ‘He was sixty-nine in 1891.’

  ‘And Andrew Peters,’ Quigg said. ‘He was "mentally subnormal" is what it says here.’

  ‘That leaves four,’ Kline calculated.

  Quigg’s phone vibrated. He didn’t recognise the number.

  ‘It’s Jill Mora.’

  It took him a few seconds to recognise the name. ‘Oh yes, thanks for getting back to me.’

  ‘I said I would.’

  ‘And did you find anything?’

  ‘Michael Ostrog ordered the plates in 1889.’

  ‘Delivery address?’

  ‘To be collected.’

  ‘Well, thanks...’

  ‘I haven’t finished yet, Inspector.’

  ‘Oh, I thought...’

  ‘I’m a historian. I wondered who this Michael Ostrog was.’

  ‘And I was wondering – if you did provide me with a name – how I would find out about a person who lived in Victorian times.’

  ‘You’re lucky. As an academic I have access, via the Exeter University gateway, to all genealogy sites. Every single day, more and more names and information is being added and made available online. Anyway, Michael Ostrog was possibly a surgeon in the Russian Navy. I say possibly, because there are records of him being jailed for fraud and theft. It’s recorded that he was a con man who used various aliases and disguises. There are no records of when he died.’

  ‘That’s brilliant, Jill. Thanks...’

  Kline waved the list of names under his nose.

  ‘Excuse me a minute.’ He looked at Kline. ‘What?’

  ‘She could save us some work by looking these up as well.’

  ‘I have another four names, but I don’t want to impose.’

  ‘And yet... you will.’

  ‘I could pay.’

  ‘I don’t need money, Inspector. ‘Give me the names. A cascade search is not too difficult to set up.’

  He didn’t ask what a cascade search was, but gave her the four names.

  Kline nudged him again.

  ‘Excuse me,’ he said into the phone. ‘What now?’

  ‘The builders Maltby, Bell & Co.’

  ‘My partner is sitting here next to me adding people to the list.’

  ‘Go on then, give me everyone.’

  ‘There’s a company of builders connected to Charing Cross Hospital called David Maltby, Graeme Bell & Co. I’d be interested in anything you could find on them.’

  ‘If you’re ever in Stratford upon Avon you’ll owe me lunch.’

  ‘I’d be glad to.’

  ‘Late tomorrow afternoon, I’ll ring you.’

  The call ended.

  He told Kline what Jill Mora had said about Michel Ostrog. ‘Have another look at that staff list.’

  She rifled through it. ‘No, no Michael Ostrog.’

  ‘Nothing is ever easy, is it?’ He sighed. ‘Back to the station. Let’s call it a day.’

  Chapter Fifteen

  He reached the ICU at twenty past six. There were no restrictions on visitors for the seriously ill.

  Walsh was sitting up in bed opposite the central nurses’ station slurping soup. Apparently, there were no private rooms on the ICU.

  ‘There’s me worrying about you all day, and you’re lying here having a soup party.’

  ‘It’s the first food I’ve had, I’m starving.’

  He sat down in a green plastic chair on the right side of the bed, and took her hand in his. ‘I thought I’d lost you last night, Walsh.’

  ‘Have you got something in your eye, Sir?’

  ‘I’m breaking in some contact lenses for a friend. Anyway, you look fantastic.’

  ‘I’m in the light again, that’s for sure. I don’t remember much of the last few days.’

  ‘You don’t? Well, you made certain promises to me, Walsh.’

  She smiled, and Quigg felt overjoyed to see that smile.

  ‘I’m sure I didn’t have a personality change as well.’

  ‘What’s the pain level like?’

  ‘A lot more manageable.’

  A woman in a clinging red dress – probably in her mid-forties – with shoulder-length brown hair and a long thin face approached the bed. ‘Are you Inspector Quigg?’ she said with an American accent.

  He stood up. ‘You must be Fiona Keelan?’

  ‘I am.’

  ‘So, how’s my partner doing?’

  ‘Partner?’

  ‘Police partner.’

  ‘Ah!’

  ‘I’m also her new next of kin.’

  ‘You don’t have to do that, Sir,’ Walsh said.

  ‘I know, but it’s something I want to do. You’ve run out of options, Walsh.’

  ‘I got here just in time.’ Doctor Keelan looked at Walsh as if she was to blame for not calling her sooner. ‘Another hour and Heather would have lost her leg, and then it would only have been a matter of time before she died. The infection had taken hold, and I had to be very aggressive in my treatment.’

  ‘I’m grateful,’ Quigg said. ‘What do you mean by "aggressive"?’

  ‘As her upper arm was broken anyway, I took a bone graft from there to assist in the healing process, and I’ve also attached a metal plate to her femur to maintain the bone alignment.’

 
‘Is that it now? She just gets better?’

  ‘More or less. But we do have the long-term issues of physiotherapy and the scar tissue.’

  ‘Getting her running the one hundred metres again is just a matter of time, isn’t it?’

  ‘Yes, time and effort on Heather’s part. If you want to walk normally again young lady, you’ll have to work very hard.’

  ‘You mean, I might end up with a limp?’

  ‘It’s a possibility, but we have to work hard to prevent that.’

  Walsh began crying. ‘I’ll be disfigured, and my career in the police force will be over.’

  Quigg held her good hand. ‘Stop crying about something that hasn’t happened yet. You know very well that I can’t cope with females crying. Have I let you down this far?’

  She wiped her eyes and runny nose with a tissue. ‘No, Sir.’

  ‘There you are then, and I’m not about to give up now.’ He looked at Doctor Keelan. ‘I want Heather to have the very best treatment, so that she can come back to work at the earliest opportunity.’

  ‘There’s a specialist in America...’

  ‘If he’s the best, get him over here. I’ve deposited a substantial amount of money in the hospital’s bank account, so money is no obstacle. What about the scarring?’

  ‘Stem cells,’ Doctor Keelan said.

  ‘Sorry?’

  ‘Research is being carried out with stem cells – embryonic pluripotent stem cells, which can regenerate blood, skin and tissues.’

  ‘Can you organise it?’

  ‘If money is of no consequence?’

  ‘It isn’t.’

  ‘Then I’ll get right on it. I’ve been waiting to integrate stem cell regeneration into my treatment regimen.’ She left to make some phone calls.

  ‘What are you doing, Sir? You’re acting like you’ve got loads of money. Everyone knows you haven’t got two pennies to rub together.’

  ‘It’s a long story, Walsh. You just concentrate on getting better, and let me worry about how I’m going to pay for it.’

  ‘I can’t, Sir. Tell me where the money is coming from, or I’ll refuse the treatment.’

  ‘Don’t be daft. Would you rather walk with a limp, and live off a police disability allowance?’

  ‘No, but I still want you to tell me what’s going on.’

  He sat in the green plastic chair again, and told her the short version of the Apostle story.

  ‘It’s still not your money.’

  ‘I know, and I’m not keeping it. I’ve diverted a small amount to save your life, your leg and your career, and I’m using another small amount to protect those I love from them. The rest will go to children’s charities.’

  ‘It’s all illegal, Sir.’

  ‘You tell me how I could have made it legal, Walsh?’

  She bit her lip, but didn’t offer any suggestions.

  ‘Exactly. So, are you with me? I could pay for what they’ve done for you up to now, take the rest of the money back, and walk away. Is that what you want?’

  Tears came to her eyes and skittered down her cheeks. She touched his arm. ‘You know it’s not. You’re the only person I’ve got left, the only one who cares whether I live or die.’

  ‘So, stop being a goody-two-shoes. We’ll get rid of these Apostles, re-allocate their money, get you on your feet again, and everything will be as it was. What do you say?’

  ‘Okay, Sir.’

  ‘Excellent. We have a plan. Your job is to get better. Do everything the doctors and nurses say – especially when it comes to eating porridge – and come back to me.’

  ‘How’s that bitch Kline?’

  ‘Barely a functioning individual. I’m working on her, and you know how I like to work on people.’

  ‘I’ve had some experience of that.’

  ‘So, is there anything I can get you?’

  ‘I need women’s things.’

  ‘Ah... I’m not qualified for that. I’ll send Duffy to sort you out.’ She gave him a list of things she needed and he wrote the items down in his notebook.

  ‘She’ll be in to see you tomorrow morning.’

  ‘Thanks, Sir.

  He stood up. ‘You need rest, and I need the toilet.’

  ‘You’re sure?’

  ‘My bladder’s about to burst.’

  The shadow of a smile crossed her lips. ‘About the money?’

  ‘I’m absolutely positive. It couldn’t be put to better use. More importantly, are you definitely sure you want to be the recipient of money from paedophiles?’

  ‘Do I have a choice?’

  He brushed her cheek with his hand. ‘No, but sometimes life is like that, Walsh.’

  In the hospital car park he rang the Chief.

  ‘Have you got no home to go to, Quigg?’

  ‘I thought I’d update you on Walsh, Sir.’

  ‘Let me see. You’re going to tell me that she’s out of danger, that Doctor Keelan from Switzerland has managed to save her leg, and that she’s sitting up in bed eating soup?’

  ‘That’s uncanny, Sir. Have you bugged me?’

  ‘We must have missed each other in the lifts. I’m sitting next to Walsh’s bed right now.’

  ‘You had me going there, Chief.’

  ‘So, I don’t want to spend my visiting time with Walsh talking to you, Quigg.’

  ‘No, sorry Sir. I was going to say, do you want to come into the briefing tomorrow morning at eight-thirty, save me repeating myself?’

  ‘I’ll be there.’

  ‘See you...,’ but the Chief had already ended the call.

  ***

  St Thomas’ church was a building site. He parked his car next to a mechanical digger.

  Inside, he was pleased to see that the disruption had been kept to a minimum as he’d agreed with Tony Carter.

  ‘I hope there’s something good to eat,’ he said as he walked into the atrium. ‘I’m famished.’

  Duffy linked his arm and directed him into the kitchen. ‘How about sirloin steak, breaded garlic mushrooms, chunky chips, side salad, and French stick with lashings of butter?’

  ‘I didn’t know you could read minds, Duffy.’

  ‘One of my many talents.’

  He gave her the list Walsh had requested. ‘Go in and see her tomorrow, she needs all the friends she can get.’

  ‘Of course I will, Sir.’

  Ruth and Lucy were sitting at the table waiting.

  ‘About time,’ Lucy said. ‘I could eat a dead alligator on a pogo stick.’

  ‘Well, I’m here now, so let’s get stuck in.’

  Duffy served the steaks, and they helped themselves to the rest of the food.

  ‘The atmosphere is much more conducive to eating than the other night,’ he said.

  Duffy smiled. ‘We’ve made a pact.’

  ‘I need a pee,’ Ruth said leaving the table. ‘I have never peed so much.’

  ‘What do you know about the Last Supper?’ Lucy asked.

  His brow furrowed. ‘It was the final meal that Jesus shared with his Apostles before his crucifixion.’

  ‘Well, the Apostles are organising one on the last day of the month. Today, they’ve sent out invitations. Everything they’ve done on their computer today has been mirrored on my computer. I’ve relayed the invitations, and allowed them to see all of their accounts, assets and investments. They’ve organised security and catering for the Last Supper, but I’ve held one thing up until I’d spoken to you.’

  ‘Which is?’

  ‘An email to a numbered address in Romania. It gives instructions to despatch the little entertainment parcels, and provides a delivery address in Sevenoaks, Kent.’

  Quigg’s brain worked overtime. ‘They’re bringing in children from Romania for the Last Supper, aren’t they?’

  ‘That’s what we thought. What should I do?’

  ‘Ah yes, I can see your dilemma. Do we stop it before the children are transported and exposed to those slimy bastards
, or do we use them as bait?’

  ‘It would be wrong...’ Duffy began to say.

  ‘Hang on, Duffy. We know exactly what’s going to happen, we saw it at Cobham. This is our chance to catch them, and if we get it right the children won’t be harmed.’

  ‘Can you guarantee that?’

  ‘There are no guarantees in life, but we can do our best, and that’s all anyone can ask of us. Let the email go through, Lucy, and release enough funds to pay for the security and catering. This is the opportunity we’ve been waiting for. Good work ladies, I think you all deserve a reward.’

  ‘I certainly do,’ Lucy said.

  ***

  Monday 28th May

  Quigg had got in at seven-thirty. It wasn’t often he invited the Chief to one of his briefings, and it wasn’t often the Chief attended one either. He much preferred the personal, shortened version rather than the argy-bargy of full-blooded briefings.

  He’d prepared two whiteboards since his arrival. One was headed "Past" and the other "Present". At five o’clock, he’d sat at the table in the kitchen at home and thought through the different strands of the case. It was complex, but he felt he was covering all the angles and moving in the right direction.

  He returned with his coffee to find the Chief, Kline, Janet and Perkins all waiting for him in the incident room.

  ‘When you’re ready, Quigg,’ the Chief said. ‘I have a nine o’clock, so five-to is your target.’

  ‘There are two strands to this investigation – the past and the present.’ He hoped he sounded confident. ‘Let’s briefly look at the past, which obviously bears heavily on the present. A person – or persons – unknown constructed the cavern complex in the years before 1891. Perkins has suggested that the twelve-spoke design of the complex represents a wheel of time or eternity, which is a religious symbol of the ancient Indian Vedic religion, and that human sacrifice was part of their belief system.’

  ‘I hadn’t thought about it before,’ Kline said. ‘But there must be a connection between a wheel of eternity under Eternity Wharf.’

  Everyone turned to stare at Perkins.

  ‘If there is I don’t know about it, but I’ll investigate.’

  The Chief pulled a face as if he’d swallowed a chilli pepper and it was regurgitating on him. ‘You haven’t mentioned religion before, Quigg.’