The Skulls Beneath Eternity Wharf (Quigg Book 4)

by Tim Ellis

  Perkins intervened. ‘We don’t think religion has influenced the torturing and killing, which is something else entirely. The journals show clearly that the torturers were recording the physical and psychological effects of what they were doing to their victims.’

  ‘The journals have also provided us with a list of each killer’s initials from 1891 to the present day,’ Quigg continued. ‘The first two initials were AP and MO. Now, we could surmise that these two people initiated the building of the cavern system, and to lend weight to that suggestion we’ve discovered that the person who ordered the two metal plates in the tunnel connecting the cavern system to the sewers was a Michael Ostrog in October 1889. Records suggest that he might have been a surgeon in the Russian Navy, although those same records state that he was a criminal and a con man who used various aliases and disguises, so it’s debatable he was a doctor as well. We also obtained a list of names from the hospital archives, which we’ve reduced to four.’ He pointed to the names he’d written on the board. ‘Arthur Pennington and Andrew Patterson were Medical Orderlies, Alexander Pedachenko was a Surgeon, and Augustus Pugin was a Chemist. Unfortunately, knowing any of that doesn’t help us. It could be any one of them, or none of them.’

  ‘What about the more recent initials?’ the Chief asked.

  He wished the Chief would let him just get on with the briefing. What he didn’t want to do was jump from the past to the present and back again like a poorly thought-out film. Duffy hated those films with story lines that jumped all over the place.

  ‘From the Charing Cross Hospital staff list Kline has found three people with the initials FS, and two with VR. It’s one of the things on our "To Do" list this morning. Of course, neither of the killers might currently work at the hospital. In which case, we’ll have to examine the older records. Going back to the past.’ He thought he’d make it obvious – if it hadn’t been before – that he was currently dealing with "The Past" side of the board. ‘We found out from the hospital archives that the Mental Health Wing was designed by Decimus Burton, and built by David Maltby, Graeme Bell & Co.’

  He took a slurp of his coffee.

  ‘Kline and I are also going back to the mortuary at Hammersmith to see what the forensic anthropologist has been doing with the recent skulls.’

  He saw the Chief about to say something but spoke first. ‘I know what you’re going to ask, Chief. Kline and I went to visit Adrian Chapman’s wife and kids. We caught them just about to go on holiday. I informed her that her husband was dead, but she couldn’t care less; said she’d bury him when they came back from holiday. Apparently, he’d walked out on them five years ago. He was a drunk, and lived on the streets.’

  ‘And with only one person,’ Kline said. ‘It’s too early to conclude that all the victims were homeless.’

  The Chief nodded. ‘Yes, of course. Anything on the other victims?’

  ‘I’m hoping Doc Inglehart might have something more for us this morning. We’ve also got to open up that second hatch. The first hatch connects to the sewers, but the sewage workers from Thames Water said that there’s no other sewer in that area, which obviously begs the question, "Where does the second hatch lead?" Janet, can you arrange for it to be opened? Let’s say three o’clock this afternoon. I’ll meet you there.’

  She nodded.

  ‘What about the hole?’ the Chief said.

  Perkins answered. ‘I’m struggling to find someone who will go down there since the father and son team withdrew. I’ll keep trying, but I can’t imagine there’s any urgency.’

  The Chief shook his head. ‘No, I suppose not, but we won’t know if its urgent or not until we get someone down there. What about a camera – you know like they stick up your backside or down your throat? It’s amazing what they can do with technology these days.’

  Perkins rubbed his chin between thumb and forefinger. ‘Yes, I’ll see what I can do. That’s a good idea, Chief. It may very well be the answer to the problem.’

  The Chief looked at Perkins as if he’d just crawled out of the evolutionary slime. ‘I’m full of good ideas, Perkins.’

  ‘Of course, sorry, Sir.’

  ‘We have less evidence concerning the present murders,’ Quigg continued. ‘Janet, hopefully we can fill in some gaps?’

  ‘We’ve obtained over fifty useable prints from the access point surrounding the doorway between the tunnel and the boiler room in Charing Cross Hospital. As yet, there are no matches, but if you find the killers we may be able to prove they were down there.’

  ‘We could take the fingerprints of those matching the initials of the last two killers,’ Kline said. ‘For elimination purposes, of course.’

  ‘Janet, can you organise that?’ Quigg said.

  She nodded again.

  ‘What about the blueprints of the sewers?’

  ‘The London sewer system was designed by civil engineer Joseph Bazalgette, and he recruited hundreds of workers, but what made it more difficult was that the underground and overground railway systems were also being built at the same time. What I’m saying, is that nobody would have given construction workers with building equipment a second look – London was teeming with them.’

  ‘And Charing Cross Hospital was also being expanded during that period. What you’re saying is that all this building work provided ideal cover for someone to construct the caverns?’

  ‘Yes. I suspect that even the men working on it were unaware of its true purpose. They probably thought it was part of the sewers, or underground railway.’

  ‘So, the blueprints are of no use?’

  ‘No, Sir.’

  ‘What about you, Perkins?’

  ‘We’ve looked at the security DVD from the corridor in the Mental Health wing, but to be honest it’s like playing pin the tail on the donkey. If we knew who we were looking for...’ He left the sentence hanging.

  Quigg grunted. ‘If we knew who we were looking for, there’d be no need to examine the DVD.’

  ‘What about taking pictures of the people matching the initials, and see if any of them are captured on the video?’ Kline suggested.

  ‘We could ask them,’ Janet said. ‘But if they refuse to provide fingerprints and a picture there won’t be a lot we can do about it.’

  ‘Except look at them more closely,’ Kline said.

  Perkins continued. ‘I spoke to a Tina Summerskill at the Heraldry Society. She assures me that there is no such coat of arms like you described. All numbers would be written in Latin. Thus, a ten would be an X.’

  ‘I know someone else who might have an idea what it is. Okay, thanks for coming everybody...’

  ‘There’s something else,’ Perkins said.

  ‘Go on?’

  ‘The torture devices.’

  ‘Yes?’

  ‘We can’t take them out through Charing Cross Hospital.’

  Quigg shook his head. ‘No, that wouldn’t be appropriate.’

  ‘Nor can we haul them out through the hole in the roof.’

  ‘No, I can imagine that would be too dangerous.’

  ‘Leave them where they are,’ the Chief said.

  ‘I’m sorry, Sir?’ Perkins said.

  ‘Brick up the tunnel that leads to the hospital. I’ll keep a man in the warehouse for the time being. Once we know what the hell is going on, then we’ll decide what to do with the devices.’

  Quigg shrugged. ‘Seems logical, Chief. I can’t imagine the Commissioner would be happy with a lot of torture devices dripping in blood cluttering up the evidence store.’

  ‘My thoughts exactly, Quigg. It makes you wonder how the killers got the devices down there in the first place.’

  Quigg thought the Chief was dawdling for a reason. ‘Kline, go and get a pool car; I’ll meet you in the car park in twenty minutes.’

  Once everyone had left the Chief said, ‘What about the press?’

  ‘I’m open to suggestions, Chief?’

  ‘Until we know where this is le
ading, I think it’s best to err on the side of caution. You’re doing a good job so far, but keep the press in the dark for the time being.’

  ‘Leave it with me, Sir. I have the feeling that the Great Pestilence is about to make a comeback.’

  After the Chief had left he went into the cubicle people laughingly called his office and phoned Denny Conway, the project manager for his mum’s house.

  ‘Please tell me you’re close to finishing the damn thing, Denny, my mum’s driving me nuts?’

  ‘How about Friday, Mr Quigg?’

  ‘Really?’

  ‘Really. There’s some final snagging to do, but nothing major. You bring your mum on Friday at say... eleven o’clock, and we’ll give her the presidential guided tour.’

  ‘Excellent. She’ll be really pleased. Thanks, Denny.’

  ‘My pleasure, Mr Quigg. See you Friday.’

  He didn’t have time to phone his mum; he’d phone her later. First, he had an unpleasant task to perform. He took Kline’s personnel file from the bottom of his locker and walked up the corridor to the Chief’s office.

  Monica smiled at him. ‘Hello, Inspector Quigg.’

  He dropped the file on the desk in front of her, and the colour drained from her face.

  ‘What are you doing with one of my personnel files?’

  ‘That’s the wrong question, Monica. A better question would be how could someone get into your office, and then into your filing cabinets to acquire a personnel file.’

  A look of confusion crossed her face.

  ‘I confiscated this file off Sergeant Jones on Saturday.’

  ‘What...?’

  ‘I recalled that you used to have a thing with Sergeant Jones, and I had the idea that while you were snoring after having had sex with him he made copies of your keys, and he’s been using those keys to pry into people’s personnel files. Now I’m not going to inform the Chief...’

  ‘Thank you, Insp...’

  ‘You are.’

  ‘But...’

  ‘You’re going to tell him exactly what happened, and throw yourself on his mercy.’

  She began to cry.

  ‘The Chief thinks Jones is a Saint. You’re going to shatter that image of him. And it’s no good crying, you should have thought about all this when Jones was shagging you in the broom cupboard. He’s a slimeball, and now you have to own up to your crimes, Monica.’

  She undid the top button of her tight floral dress to reveal a cleavage that he could have been sucked into. ‘Isn’t there some other way?’

  ‘That’s what got you into trouble in the first place, isn’t it? All the locks need to be changed. The Chief will want to know why. If you haven’t told him by tomorrow morning – I will.’

  He made his way to the car park via the toilet.

  Chapter Sixteen

  ‘Where to first, Sir?’ Kline said.

  ‘The mortuary at Hammersmith. Let’s go and see the monster Doctor Frankenstein and her assistant have created. I can also pop up and say hello to Walsh.’

  The mechanics at the car pool had obviously been less than happy that she’d kept the Toyota Celica out all weekend because she now had a Honda Civic with triangular exhausts.

  ‘Not many partners would do that.’

  ‘I’m a one-partner dog, Kline. It took me a long time to find Walsh. I had a partner called Lulu Begone, but she returned to South Africa. I then worked on my own for a long time, and then Duffy came along...’

  ‘Duffy? I don’t think I know her.’

  ‘We won’t talk about Duffy. She broke the golden rule of partners.’

  ‘Oh, and what’s that?’

  ‘Don’t get pregnant.’

  ‘She’s having a baby?’

  ‘Yes.’ He wasn’t going to mention that it was his baby. She’d no doubt find out soon enough, and then she’d want to know all the gory details about how, why, when, and what the hell was he thinking of?

  ‘If Walsh doesn’t come back...’

  ‘Let’s not go there, Kline. Walsh is already on the road to recovery.’

  ‘Yeah, but let’s just imagine a scenario where...’

  ‘It isn’t going to happen. You’re just keeping Walsh’s seat warm. Don’t mention it again.’

  It was twenty past ten when Kline parked the car in a legal parking space. She displayed the "Police" sign in the front window, but as she followed Quigg towards reception she saw a wheelclamper’s low loader and made a detour.

  He stopped and watched her gesticulate towards the car and wring her hands as if she was strangling a chicken.

  ‘Fucking bastards,’ she said when she re-joined him. ‘I told them in no uncertain terms that if they even looked at my car the wrong way, I’d wring their scrawny fucking necks.’

  ‘I’ve got a funny feeling you don’t like wheelclampers.’

  ‘Sons of whores.’

  A hodgepodge of reporters was waiting for him outside the main hospital entrance.

  ‘Have you been talking to the press, Kline?’

  ‘No I have not.’

  ‘Well, somebody has.’ He wondered if it was DS Jones, but the only person who knew that they were coming here first was Kline, and he’d been with her the whole time.

  He ignored the shouted questions until his was answered. ‘How did you know I would be here?’

  There was a ripple of laughter. ‘We didn’t. You’re more elusive than Wally. We’re here covering the visit of the Mayor. You just happen to come along, but now that you are here, what can you tell us about your investigation?’

  ‘You’re in luck. This morning we’ve received confirmation that it was an illegal burial site for Bubonic plague victims of 1665.’

  ‘Is there any chance of going down there, maybe taking some photographs, a video...?’

  ‘If you’d like to catch the Black Death with its tell-tale gangrenous pustules, and then spend a week in isolation sweating, puking, and bleeding from every orifice before you die an excruciating death – feel free to wander down there.’

  ‘That’s a no then?’

  ‘Unfortunately, active spores have been found. We’ve also discovered that one of the skulls is recent, which explains our continued presence here.’

  ‘Do you know who the victim or the killer is?’

  ‘No to both of those questions. As you can imagine, with just a skull we’re reliant on dental records and DNA analysis, which is why we’re here now.’

  The Lord Mayor arrived in a black limousine. Quigg and Kline were forgotten as the reporters moved en masse to cover the arrival of London’s first lady, which was, of course, why they were there after all.

  ‘Bubonic plague?’ Kline said. ‘When did you think up that one?’

  ‘Early this morning. I have my best ideas first thing in the morning. I needed something that would stop them asking questions.’

  ‘Except now, the historians will want to know why they weren’t informed.'

  ‘We’ll deal with them separately.’

  Even though they were half an hour late, Doc Inglehart and another woman were sitting waiting for them and drinking coffee.

  ‘This is Chouka Price, the forensic anthropologist,’ Doc Inglehart said, indicating a woman in her late twenties with thick shoulder-length brown hair, oval rimless glasses, and perfect lips.

  Quigg shook the proffered hand and introduced Kline. ‘Coffee looks good.’

  ‘It is good,’ Doc Inglehart said. ‘While I was waiting for you to arrive I caught the lift up to the cafeteria and bought two cups. Do you want us to wait while you do the same? I certainly wouldn’t mind another cup. What about you, Chouka?’

  ‘I see. Kline...’

  ‘Don’t even think about sending me.’

  ‘Mmmm! Okay, well we may as well get down to business. What else have you got for me besides a cup with no coffee in it?’

  Doc Inglehart smiled. ‘Chouka, do you want to show the nice Inspector what you’ve been up to?’


  She moved to one side to reveal something large on the worktop with a tatty old rag covering it. She took hold of the cloth and ripped it away as if she was practising to be a magician. ‘Voila,’ she said.

  Quigg thought she was a magician. There on the table stood the head and neck of a woman in her late forties. The hair was knotted and matted, she had a large bulbous nose, staring eyes, leathery skin, and black rotting teeth.

  ‘Never mind a forensic anthropologist,’ Quigg said. ‘You should have taken up sculpting. That’s brilliant.’

  Chouka beamed. ‘Thank you, Inspector. In a way, I’m an artist as well as a forensic anthropologist.’

  ‘So, what’s the story?’

  ‘I’ve called her Sally Parker. That’s not her real name, of course, but I like to name my heads to see how close I get to the real name if the police ever find out who the heads belong to. The teeth gave Sally’s life away. We called in a dental odontologist, and based on the state of Sally’s teeth he described her lifestyle. Sally lived on the street. She hadn’t seen a dentist for at least three years. There were seven cavities of varying sizes, and some of those still contained food from her final meal, which was rat by the way.’

  A noise came from Kline’s throat. ‘How disgusting.’

  ‘Until you’ve been really hungry, Detective Kline,’ Chouka said. ‘You shouldn’t judge others. One of the things we have to do as a forensic anthropologist is to empathise with the victims – walk a mile in their shoes so to speak. The creation of a person’s face is easier and more realistic when you can do that.’

  ‘The odontologist also examined the other five skulls in our grisly collection,’ Doc Inglehart said. ‘He thought that they were all living on the street before their deaths. One of the first things to suffer without a balanced diet, regular brushing and treated tap water is the teeth. All the skulls had varying degrees of dental deterioration.’

  ‘I guess that confirms it, Kline,’ Quigg said.

  ‘Looks like it, Sir. It would certainly explain why the killers could get away with murder for so long.’

  ‘I suppose homeless people live outside the system,’ Chouka said. ‘They’re probably not on anybody’s records, and if they disappear nobody knows they’ve even gone. I think it’s really sad. Somebody should keep records of the homeless people.’