The Haunting of Bleeding Heart Yard (Quigg)

by Tim Ellis

  ‘Only half an hour?’ For that amount of money he would have expected at the very least half a day. ‘Unfortunately, I’m working.’

  ‘Most men don’t haggle. Seeing as it’s the school holidays I’ll give you a ten percent discount.’

  ‘Very generous, but I really do have to go.’

  ‘You’ll never know what you’ve missed.’

  ‘I’m sure. Do you have a key to Catherine’s flat downstairs?’

  ‘Yes.’ She walked over to the bookcase, lifted the lid of a small porcelain pot with cherries painted on it, took out a key and slipped it between her lips.

  She sashayed across the carpet and leaned over him. Her breasts were within caressing-distance, her lips were puckered and only inches away from his.

  His heart rate had increased to dangerous levels. She obviously expected him to take the key with his lips, but he knew that if he did he would have been on a slippery slope to Hell. He reached up his right hand and removed the key from between her lips.

  She swivelled and went back to the sofa. ‘Push it through the letterbox when you’re finished.’

  ‘Are you going out?’

  ‘I’ll be busy. Why – are you jealous?’

  ‘A little bit, but I’ll live with it.’

  Chapter Sixteen

  They hurried up the metal steps towards the sliver of light, through a metal doorway and into a vast domed chamber.

  The stench was horrific and made their eyes water.

  ‘Where are we?’ Emilia asked holding a hand over her mouth and nose.

  Kline looked about what she guessed was a brick Victorian chamber. There were half a dozen tunnels – approximately six-foot in diameter – equidistant around the base of the chamber, and by the way they sloped inwards it looked as though they emptied into the chamber rather than took water away from it. In the centre of the floor, surrounded by a concrete walkway, lay an enormous pool of black slime. A corroded metal ladder stretched upwards to what appeared to be a viewing gallery with a safety fence around it. The sliver of light came through a square hole above the gallery, and she had the feeling it wasn’t daylight.

  ‘I’d say we were in a disused sewage station or something . . .’

  ‘You are sure it is disused?’

  ‘I’m not sure of anything, but other than what’s in that pool there doesn’t seem to be much water about. What I am sure of, is that if it is still in use, we won’t know much about it the next time someone pulls the chain.’

  ‘We have to go,’ Emilia said.

  Kline examined the steel door. It had rusted solid. There was no way she would be able to move it, never mind close it.

  ‘Go where? Into one of the tunnels, or up the ladder?’

  ‘I have had my fill of tunnels.’

  ‘I don’t know how safe the ladder is, and I don’t know if we can get out up there. If we go into one of the tunnels, they won’t know which one – we might get lucky.’

  ‘We will make our own luck. Let us climb the ladder.’

  Kline shrugged. If she was being truthful, she didn’t want to go back into the tunnels either.

  They made their way round the concrete walkway.

  Kline tested the ladder by trying to pull the iron bolts out of the wall, but couldn’t. ‘You go first,’ she said to Emilia. ‘I’ll be right behind you.’

  ‘Will it take both of us?’

  ‘We’ll soon find out.’

  Emilia began to climb – one rung at a time.

  It seemed to take forever.

  Kline was impatient to get off the ladder and reach the gallery above. She knew that the Einsatzgruppen would find them soon, and then what?

  But as much as she wanted to hurry, she knew that she could only go as fast as Emilia could climb.

  ‘You said that you left the safety of the barn – where did you go then?’

  Emilia gave a small laugh. ‘Yes, let us get back to the story. It will take our minds off what is coming up the ladder behind us. It was dark . . . I haven’t told you how afraid of the dark I am.’

  ‘It’s a bit late to be telling me that now.’

  ‘I know. You think I have no fear. I am afraid every second of every day.’

  ‘You hide your fear well, Emilia.’

  ‘Fear is a useless emotion . . . It was dark, the snow was still falling and I had a choice to make. Did I go towards the town, or into the forest? I was on the edge of Kiev in the Podilski District, and I knew very well that if I was caught in the town without papers I would be shot. The Germans had emptied Kiev of Jews – most of them were lying dead in the pit at Babi Yar. What was there for me in the town? The Ukrainians wouldn’t help me, they were either too afraid or helping the German soldiers.’

  ‘Yes, you would have been walking into the wolf’s lair if you’d gone into the town.’

  ‘Exactly. I had no choice but to go into the forest. I had a small amount of food and drink. Maybe enough for two days if I rationed myself, but after that . . .’

  ‘What lay beyond the forest?’

  ‘Russia.’

  The ladder shuddered. A bolt pinged out of the wall and fell to the concrete below with a thud.

  ‘Can you go any faster?’ Kline asked.

  ‘I will try.’

  ‘Russia would have been as bad . . .’

  ‘Yes, I know. What choice did I have. I really wanted to make my way to the port at Odessa, to catch a boat to somewhere the war hadn’t touched, but the Germans controlled everything. If I was going to die, then I would choose the place to die.’

  ‘And yet you didn’t die.’

  ‘No . . .’

  Another bolt jumped from the wall and thudded onto the concrete.

  Three skinheads burst into the cavern.

  ‘Well, well, well,’ one of them shouted up to them. ‘What have we here?’

  At last, she could vent her spleen. ‘Fuck off, you German bastards,’ Kline screamed.

  He laughed. ‘We are not going anywhere.’ He signalled the other two to start climbing the ladder. ‘You won’t escape. A feeble old woman and a little girl are no match for us. We are Aryans – the very best of German manhood.’

  ‘Do not waste your breath,’ Emilia said.

  They reached the top of the ladder and stepped onto the gallery.

  The two Einsatzgruppen had begun climbing the ladder after them.

  ***

  How had that happened?

  Usually, women took one look at him and jumped off the nearest tall building. Anastasia Scripps! Her name rolled off his tongue like treacle – he liked it, he liked it a lot. He also liked her figure. Yes, he’d like to get his hands and his tongue on that figure. Was he on a promise? It certainly appeared to be the case. She had a lovely personality, and she seemed to like him. He wasn’t going to get over-excited though, because he knew very well that women had a habit of changing their minds – especially where he was concerned.

  He drove along to the Hand and Marigold. Not least, because he needed some lunch, but it wouldn’t hurt to carry out a reconnaissance, find out the lay of the land – so to speak, ask about rooms and their availability just in case Anastasia needed somewhere to lie down after dinner.

  There was certainly no harm in mixing work and pleasure, and it had been months since he’d been with anyone other than the five-fingered widow.

  ‘Half a lager shandy and a blue cheese burger, please,’ he said to the barman.

  ‘Table number?’

  ‘I don’t have one.’ He looked around, walked over to a table by the window, registered the number and went back to the bar. ‘Fourteen.’

  ‘That’ll be eleven pounds thirty-five,’ the barman said, putting the shandy on a beer mat.

  He took out his wallet and paid. ‘Do you have rooms available?’

  ‘Rooms? How many do you want?’

  ‘Just one.’

  ‘Julie?’ he called through into the other bar.

  A middle-aged woman wi
th bottle blonde hair that had turned nearly white appeared. She wore a tight paisley-patterned dress, which looked as though it had been spray-painted onto her body, and emphasised every lump and bump beneath.

  ‘Yes?’

  ‘Man wants a room.’

  Rodney smiled. ‘I was merely enquiring as to their availability.’

  ‘I’m the landlady – Julie Fotheringale Just the one room?’ she asked.

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘I have one double room available.’

  ‘Only one? Will it still be available tonight?’

  ‘Do pigs fly?’

  ‘Not in my experience.’

  ‘This is the holiday season. Do you know how many tourists we get in Bermondsey?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘A lot. The Americans especially like to stay in a cramped old English room, so that they can go back home and tell their friends about their humbling experience.’

  ‘I suppose I’d better have the room then.’

  ‘Of course, Sir,’ she said with a smile. ‘If you’ll follow me.’

  It was best to be prepared – he’d always thought so. One never knew when things could go wrong. Here was a case in point. He’d simply come to conduct a reconnaissance. If he’d left it to the fickle finger of fate he’d have had a fabulous looking woman slavering at the thought of getting him into bed and no bed for her to get him into. Yes, making sure he had a room was a prerequisite for a successful night.

  He didn’t want her to think that he’d planned everything like a military operation. If she asked he’d say that he didn’t want to drive home so late at night, and had booked the room accordingly. If she wanted to come up to his room for a nightcap, to take her clothes off and to have sex with him . . . well, that would be swell. If she didn’t, if she wanted to get back to her husband . . . well, that would be not so swell.

  ‘Name?’

  ‘Roger Crankshank. I’d also like to book an evening meal for two at seven-thirty.’

  She stopped writing. ‘I see. And would this room be for just yourself . . . or a lady friend as well?’

  ‘I don’t think . . .’

  ‘This is not a knocking shop, Mr Crankshank.’

  ‘I never . . .’

  ‘She’s not a prostitute, is she?’

  ‘Absolutely . . .’

  ‘And my staff are not keen on changing bed linen that has stains all over it, so if you are going to have sex with your lady friend, I’d be grateful if you could wear a condom.’

  ‘Do you normally treat your guests like this?’

  ‘Not normally, but they usually book in with their wives or girlfriends. Whereas you seem to be booking the room in the hope of striking it lucky. I’ve been in this game for a long time, and you’d need to get up pretty early in the morning to put one past me. That’ll be ninety-five pounds, please.’

  He handed her his work credit card. He’d put it down to expenses. ‘Thank you,’ he said, when the transaction had been completed.

  Before he could get back to his drink and blue cheese burger she said, ‘One other thing.’

  ‘Yes?’

  ‘She’s not a screamer, is she?’

  ‘I’m sorry.’

  ‘You will be if she is. Regardless of the time, I’ll ask you both to leave. I have other guests to consider. What they don’t want, and I don’t want either, is someone having sex and making grunting, screaming or moaning noises to celebrate the occasion. If she’s a screamer – put a sock in her mouth.’

  He’d never been so embarrassed. Well, that wasn’t strictly true. There had been a number of occasions where his embarrassment had reached epic proportions, but he preferred not to dwell on those.

  Once he’d got back to his seat he rang Deidre at the office.

  ‘Hi, Rodders.’

  ‘Hi, Deidre. Any news for me?’

  ‘You bet.’

  ‘Go on then.’

  ‘I rang the British Consulate in Canada – she’s not there.’

  ‘According to the estate agents her forwarding address is still in Canada.’ He read off the address he had in his notebook. ‘They send her mail there once a month.’

  ‘Well, she’s not there.’

  ‘Okay. What about Richard Dodge?’

  ‘He’s there, but he doesn’t live at that address.’

  ‘That’s interesting.’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘I have a hunch.’

  ‘Don’t say that, Rodders. The last time you had a hunch I had to bring a spare set of clothes to the police station, and you were lucky not to get charged with indecent exposure.’

  ‘I thought we agreed not to talk about that ever again.’

  ‘Well, stop having hunches then.’

  ‘Anyway, Caitlin and Dodge were going to Canada together and were meant to be living at that address – he should still be there.’

  ‘Maybe the place was too big for him on his own, or maybe he couldn’t afford it, or . . .’

  ‘Maybe . . . but I’ve . . . got a funny feeling that the address is owned by Lancer Communications.’

  ‘Isn’t a funny feeling similar to a hunch?’

  ‘Absolutely not.’

  ‘So, why are you having this funny feeling?’

  ‘The people who bought Caitlin’s house were Lancer Communications, and it’s still standing empty.’

  ‘That’s where she worked, isn’t it?’

  ‘Yeah. So, can you check who owns that address in Canada?’

  ‘Will do.’

  ‘Also, I was going to check out Lancer Communications this afternoon, but I don’t have an address. What I do have is a telephone number, but it diverts to another number.’

  ‘And you want me to find out what I can about Lancer Communications?’

  ‘What about a winter wedding, Deidre? There’s a place I know in Antarctica where you can swim naked in an ice hole.’

  ‘You’re a crazy fucker, Rodders.’

  ‘I guess that’s a no then?’

  ‘You guess correctly.’

  ‘One of these days you’re going to make me a very happy man, Deidre.’

  ‘Bob checked out Caitlin’s bank account – it’s not been touched for six months. No credit card transactions during that period either, and no activity on her mobile phone.’

  ‘Mmmm! What about the CSA payments?’

  ‘She’s building up a nice little nest egg in her bank account. The money’s going in, but she’s not drawing any of it out.’

  ‘It’s not looking good, is it?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘Anything on a school for Phoebe?’

  ‘Nothing.’

  ‘Maybe they’ve changed their names?’ he suggested.

  ‘Not likely.’

  ‘Maybe . . . ? No. ’

  ‘What are you going to do this afternoon?’

  ‘I’ll take a trip to Fairlight Cove in East Sussex and see what I can find out about Caitlin Quigg, née Hughes.’

  ‘Are you coming back to the office after that?’

  ‘No, I have something to do tonight.’

  ‘Oh yes?’

  ‘A bit on the side.’

  ‘Don’t let the taxman find out.’

  ‘I don’t think the taxman will be too interested in what I’ve got planned for tonight.’

  ‘See you tomorrow then, Rodders.’

  ‘Are you sure you don’t . . . ?’

  ‘I’m sure.’

  ‘Okay. See you tomorrow, Deirdre .’

  He ended the call.

  As much as he liked the idea of getting Anastasia Scripps into bed, he still had a thing for Deidre Fishlock.

  He feared the worst for DI Quigg’s ex-wife and his daughter. There seemed to be some skulduggery going on with Lancer Communications. Who were they? Why had they bought Mrs Quigg’s house? Were they involved in her disappearance?

  Up to now, he had no leads at all. Maybe Deidre would come up with something. Maybe he’d find a little something in F
airlight Cove.

  He stuffed the last of the blue cheese burger into his mouth, swilled it down with the remains of the lager and left the pub. If he was going to be back for his promise, he needed to get a move on.

  ***

  Having put the new laptop in her room, and thrown the bag of plastic bits into the waste bin, she decided to walk to the chemist while she had the bit between the teeth and buy another pregnancy test-kit.

  She looked, but she couldn’t find Duffy, so she left her note saying: Back Soon.

  Outside, Pansy waved. ‘Yoo-hoo, Miss Lucy.’

  She waved back while she checked out whether any of the male gardeners Pansy had with her were of shaggable quality. It didn’t look promising. With a baby bowling ball weighing her down, she wasn’t particularly bothered anyway.

  More to the point – did she need anything for tonight? Quigg wouldn’t expect her to “steal” the car again, and she’d be back before anyone had realised she’d gone. Drive up there . . . would there be a copper on the door? It was a crime scene, there’d be tape and dusting powder everywhere. What if there was a copper on the door? Well, she wouldn’t be able to go inside – would she? She’d have to come clean with Quigg. If it was part of his active investigation, then maybe he could get her Gatekeeper’s hard drive.

  No, he’d never go along with that. How could he explain to the Chief that instead of letting forensics analyse the hard drive, he’d given it to this hot babe who lived in his house to play about with. The trouble was, if forensics started analysing the hard drive they’d eventually follow the bread crumbs back to her. Also, the forensics people who would analyse it weren’t his forensic people, so he’d have no control over what they found. By association – Quigg would be implicated. No, not getting the hard drive wasn’t an option. She had to get in that house, take the hard drive and get back home.

  So, what did she need? A pair of gloves. Her fingerprints were bound to be on the database by now, but they wouldn’t have her name on them. They’d be classified as “Unknown”, and she’d like them to stay that way. If she got caught, the shit would definitely hit the fan – if she talked. She wouldn’t say a word. Her one phone call would be to Quigg to tell him to abandon her – she’d be a martyr for the cause.