The Haunting of Bleeding Heart Yard (Quigg)

by Tim Ellis

  Step by step, floor by floor. Eventually he reached the twenty-seventh floor. He hadn’t heard or seen anyone walking up or down and felt completely disorientated. Where was everyone?

  He spilled into the corridor. It was exactly the same as the corridor on the thirty-fifth floor – except there were white-suited forensic officers standing, kneeling and crawling on all fours. How could Kline have missed them?

  ‘Where’s Perkins?’ he asked a kneeling form.

  The person pointed along the corridor.

  ‘Thanks.’

  He found Flat 27/3. Two uniforms were on guard outside. After struggling into a paper suit, mask, gloves and boots he walked inside.

  ‘Perkins?’ he called.

  ‘In here, Sir.’

  He walked through into the main bedroom. ‘Have you brought sandwiches and a flask?’

  ‘They’re in the truck.’

  ‘What’s on the sandwiches?’

  ‘Crabmeat.’

  ‘You had to do it, didn’t you?’

  ‘Do what?’

  ‘Spoil my day. I thought you might have spread something normal on your butties. What about the drink?’

  ‘Ovaltine made with soya milk.’

  ‘You’re disgusting. Where’s Kline?’

  He shook his head. ‘Not here.’

  ‘That’s crazy. She came up here hours ago.’ He held out his hand. ‘Lend me your phone.’

  Perkins scrabbled in the white jumpsuit to get to his phone. ‘Where’s yours?’

  ‘Don’t ask.’

  ‘I just did.’

  ‘Lost it.’

  ‘How?’

  ‘Are you interrogating me for a reason?’

  ‘Possibly.’

  He phoned Kline.

  ‘Hello?’

  ‘It’s me. Where the hell are you?’

  ‘Never mind where I am. Where the fuck are you? I’ve been trying to contact you for ages.’

  ‘It’s a long story’

  ‘And why are you pretending to be Perkins by using his phone?’

  ‘Another long story. So, where are you?’

  ‘I’m on the twenty-seventh floor.’

  ‘That’s where I am. I’m here with Perkins.’

  ‘Something weird is going on, Sir.’

  ‘I’m on my way to the lift. Stay on the phone and meet me there.’

  ‘Okay.’

  He left the flat, walked along the corridor and stood outside the lift. ‘Right, I’m here. Where are you?’

  ‘Standing outside the lift.’

  ‘Are you winding me up, Kline?’

  ‘Don’t think I haven’t thought about it, but I’m not.’

  ‘Maybe you went into one of the other blocks by mistake.’

  ‘You saw me get into the lift and travel up to the twenty-seventh floor of this block.’

  ‘All right, let’s try something else. Meet me in the lobby and we’ll start again.’

  ‘Can’t.’

  ‘Why not?’

  ‘The lift isn’t working.’

  He sighed. ‘What about the stairs?’

  ‘I’m not walking down twenty-seven flights of fucking stairs. I may be fit, but I’m not stupid.’

  ‘Are the stairs there?’

  ‘Where else would they be?’

  ‘Check.’

  There was a long silence.

  ‘Are you still there?’ he said.

  ‘What the fuck have you done with the stairs?’

  ‘You’re right – something weird is going on.’

  ‘I have an idea,’ Perkins said from behind him.

  He jumped. ‘For Christ’s sake, Perkins – you nearly gave me a coronary.’

  ‘Sorry. Do you want to know what I think?’

  ‘Do we want to know what Perkins thinks, Kline?’

  ‘It depends on what he thinks.’

  ‘Go on then, Perkins – amaze us with your insight.’

  ‘Aliens.’

  ‘How did I know you were going to say that?’

  Kline snorted. ‘Did he say aliens?’

  ‘He’s an avid alien hunter.’

  Perkins shrugged. ‘Scoff if you like, but I wouldn’t be surprised if there had been increased alien activity around Hammersmith today.’

  ‘Increased alien activity!’ He laughed. ‘An increase on what? You make it sound as though there’s a normal amount of alien activity to start with.’

  ‘They’re here among us, you know. Just because you can’t see them, doesn’t mean they don’t exist.’

  ‘You’re a man of science, Perkins. You should be telling me that there’s a rational explanation for what we’re experiencing.’

  He glanced behind him to make sure nobody was listening and then leaned closer. ‘I just have. Aliens are scientific fact. The group I’m a member of have acquired evidence of a massive government conspiracy.’

  ‘Get back to your work, Perkins. Are you still collecting evidence?’

  ‘Oh yes, we’ll be here for some time.’

  ‘What about me?’ Kline asked him.

  Where was she? Surely, it was all a gigantic hoax – but why? Why would somebody go to these lengths to fool them into believing – what? None of it made any sense.

  ‘Are you sure you’re on the twenty-seventh floor?’

  ‘This is where the lift brought me, and that’s what it says on the walls and doors.’

  He scratched his head. ‘While I was trapped on the thirty-fifth floor I knocked on a couple of doors and asked some questions – you could do that.’

  ‘There are seven flats on the floor . . .’

  ‘As there are on all the floors.’

  ‘. . . I’ve knocked on every door. I didn’t get any answer from six of them.’

  ‘And the seventh?’

  ‘A crazy woman called Jenny French who lives in 27/1, rustles when she moves and wears a pointy tin foil hat on her head. She wouldn’t talk at the door, and I wasn’t going into her flat – there were no lights on in there and the place reeked of something I couldn’t quite put my finger on.’

  ‘I have nothing else,’ he said.

  ‘Maybe Perkins is right.’

  ‘And maybe you need to get yourself a pointy tin foil hat.’

  ‘Maybe we both do. We’re in the same block, on the same floor, outside the same lift, and yet we can’t see each other – we’re talking on the telephone for fuck’s sake. How do you explain that?’

  He couldn’t, so he said nothing.

  ‘Are you still there?’ she said.

  ‘Maybe you should sit down and wait until the lift starts working again, or the stairs reappear.’

  ‘Have you heard what you’re saying?’

  ‘You need to get a hold of yourself, Kline. You’re beginning to sound a little crazy as well.’ He grunted. ‘Regardless of what Perkins is suggesting, there’ll be a rational explanation.’

  ‘It’s fucking spooking me out. Anyway, let’s say the lift starts working – then what?’

  ‘Let me know, and we’ll meet outside.’

  ‘What if . . . ?’

  ‘I don’t think we need any more speculation. Call me when the lift is working.’

  ‘Okay.’

  The call ended.

  He walked along the corridor to 27/1. Engraved on the brass name plate was “Miss Jennifer French”. He knocked on the door.

  A woman’s voice filtered through the wood. ‘Who is it?’

  ‘DI Quigg from Hammersmith Police Station.’

  ‘Hold your ID up to the keyhole.’

  He did as she said, and it seemed to take an age until the door eventually opened a tiny amount.

  A woman – probably in her mid-thirties – with dark shoulder-length hair, a haunted look in her eyes and a muscular tic on the left side of her face had wedged herself into the gap between the wall and door. ‘Yes?’

  ‘I don’t know if you know, but there’s been a murder in Flat 27/3 . . .’

  ‘
Has somebody said something about me?’

  ‘Not that I’m aware of. I’m knocking on all the doors on this floor . . . Do you mind if I come in?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘I see. Well, do you know anything about the murder . . . ?’

  ‘No.’

  The door slammed shut.

  He hadn’t been able to see into the flat, but she wasn’t wearing a pointy tin foil hat and he didn’t think she had rustled when she moved. Maybe she’d removed the layer of tin foil from beneath her clothing, and maybe she’d put the hat on a table behind the door – he doubted she’d done any of that. It was a slightly different Jenny French.

  Where the hell was Kline? He’d asked that same question when she disappeared at Grisly Park. At least here he was able to talk to her on the phone.

  He called the Chief.

  ‘Why are you phoning me, Perkins?’

  ‘No, it’s me, Chief.’

  ‘I’m not even going to ask why you’re using Perkins’ phone, Quigg.’

  ‘I lost mine.’

  ‘You do know that’s a hanging offence?’

  ‘There are mitigating circumstances.’

  ‘Why is it, that whenever you’re given a simple open and shut case, it turns into the crime of the century?’

  ‘That’s why I’m ringing you.’

  ‘To tell me it’s more difficult than you first envisaged, that you want more men, more resources, transport, forensics . . . In fact, you want to suck my budget dry on one open and shut case. Well, I can tell you now that it’s never going to happen, Quigg.’

  ‘There’s something weird going on here, Chief.’

  ‘The only thing that’s weird in Apocalypse Heights is you. Now, if you’ve got something important to tell me then I’m all ears, but otherwise I have figures, financial reports and clear-up rates to massage for the Commissioner. Well, do you have something important to tell me?’

  ‘Not really, Chief.’

  ‘As much as I like chewing the fat with you . . .’

  The call ended.

  He walked back along the corridor to Flat 27/3, wandered down the hallway and into the lounge.

  ‘So, what have we got, Perkins? And don’t say more aliens.’

  ‘Lance Flowers . . .’

  ‘Where’s the pathologist?’

  ‘She should have been here a while ago, but it looks like she’s been delayed.’

  He returned Perkins’ phone. ‘Try calling her.’

  Perkins made the call, but there was no answer. ‘She might be driving.’

  ‘Or she might be the latest victim of increased alien activity.’ He held out his hand.

  ‘What?’

  ‘The phone.’

  ‘But it’s mine.’

  ‘My need is greater than yours. Hand it over. You’ll get it back - eventually.’

  ‘Stay out of my messages.’

  ‘Why would I want to look in there?’

  ‘I’m just saying.’ He handed Quigg his phone.

  ‘So, what about Lance Flowers?’

  ‘The front door isn’t damaged.’

  ‘So he let the killer in, which could mean he knew the person.’

  ‘Possibly. We’ve collected a significant amount of fingerprints, hair, fibres and bodily fluids . . .’

  ‘Bodily fluids?’

  ‘There’s strong evidence that Mr Flowers was a homosexual.’

  ‘Ah!’

  ‘We’ve found sperm and other discoloured samples on the bed linen . . .’

  Quigg pulled a face. ‘All right, I don’t think you need to go into the gory details.’

  ‘There’s also some toys . . .’

  ‘Toys? Did he have a dog or a child?’

  ‘Not those type of toys, I’m afraid. There’s anal plugs, penis pumps, vibrating nipple clamps, dildos, silicone lubricants . . .’

  ‘You seem to know a lot about homosexual toys.’

  ‘One of my officers has inside knowledge.’

  ‘Inside knowledge . . .’ He grunted. ‘You never told me you were a poor excuse for a comedian.’

  ‘I have my moments.’

  ‘So, Mr Flowers’ demise might be the result of a lover’s tiff?’

  ‘Possibly.’ Perkins walked over to the wireless phone sitting in its housing, and pointed at the flashing light indicating that there was a message. ‘But you should listen to this before you start jumping to any conclusions.’ He pressed the “Play” button.

  There was a lot of crackling and interference on the tape and then a chilling voice said, “We’re coming for you, Flowers.”

  ‘Was that a male or a female voice?’ he asked.

  Perkins shrugged. ‘Hard to say.’

  ‘Have you had your people check where . . . ?’

  ‘Of course.’

  ‘Are you going to keep it to yourself?’

  ‘You won’t believe me.’

  ‘You’re not going to tell me that the call came from the mothership, are you?’

  ‘It came from nowhere.’

  ‘Nowhere?

  ‘Nowhere.’

  ‘Nowhere must be somewhere.’

  ‘By definition, nowhere is nowhere.’

  ‘You mean, you can’t trace it?’

  ‘I mean, there’s nothing to trace.’

  ‘You’re not making much sense, Perkins. Messages don’t just appear on an answerphone out of the blue.’

  ‘Under normal circumstances.’

  ‘These are normal circumstances.’

  ‘If that’s the case, why can’t my people find any evidence of an incoming call?’

  ‘I don’t want to start telling your people how to do their jobs, but have they tried all the frequencies?’

  ‘Yes?’

  ‘Infra-red and ultraviolet?’

  ‘They’re visual frequencies.’

  ‘I want them to keep working on it, Perkins. If, as you say, these are unusual circumstances, then we need to use unusual methods.’

  ‘You’re right, of course! Aliens wouldn’t necessarily use our frequencies. I’ll get my people on it.’

  ‘What about the body?’

  ‘Ah!’

  ‘Ah! What does that mean?’

  He followed Perkins into the bathroom. The room was awash with blood.

  ‘It’s like an abattoir in here,’ he said.

  ‘That’s exactly what it’s been used for.’

  There was a pewter tankard overflowing with blood on the side of the bath, a butcher’s axe and three knives dripping blood into the sink, a heart sitting on a pewter plate on the washstand and etched into the blood on the wall to their right was a five-pointed star.

  ‘Ah!’ Quigg said. ‘I see what you mean. You’re thinking Lance Flowers has been sacrificed to Satan?’

  Perkins nodded. ‘It’s a strong possibility.’

  ‘But not the only possibility. This whole scenario could have been staged to look like a murder. The heart, the blood, the small intestine may very well belong to an animal . . .’

  ‘No, they’re definitely human.’

  ‘All from the same body?’

  ‘We haven’t verified that yet.’

  ‘Was the person alive when the heart and small intestine were removed?’

  ‘We won’t know that until . . .’

  ‘It might be that the blood and organs came from a person who had previously died of natural causes.’

  ‘I hadn’t thought . . .’

  ‘So it would be safe to say that if anyone’s jumping to conclusions, Perkins – it’s you.’

  ‘Yes, I suppose it would.’

  ***

  Had the murder been staged? Where had the blood and body parts come from? If they did belong to Lance Flowers – where was his body? The axe and knives suggested that the body had been cut up. It wasn’t beyond the realms of possibility that the body had been cut into manageable parts, wrapped in plastic and taken away – but why? And where? And why leave everything else in the
bathroom?

  Where was Kline? Kline would have asked the questions he didn’t think to ask, the ones that had fallen through the cracks.

  Was the murder related to black magic and/or Satanism?

  There was something not quite right about it all. Who had reported the murder?

  ‘Do you know who called it in, Perkins?’

  ‘No. I was merely told to come up here with my team. The two officers at the door were already on guard when I arrived.’

  He walked along the hallway and back out into the corridor. There was only one of the uniformed officers there – a small rotund woman who looked as though she’d had one beef chilli wrap too many.

  ‘Where’s the other one?’ he asked.

  ‘Taking a break, Sir.’

  ‘And you are?’

  ‘Constable Louise.’

  ‘Is that your first or your last name?’

  ‘Last. My full name is Constable Jennifer Louise.’

  ‘Your parents christened you “Constable”?’

  She blushed. ‘You’re DI Quigg, aren’t you?’

  ‘The very same. Why?’

  ‘The girls talk.’

  ‘About what?’

  ‘You know – this and that.’

  ‘This and that! What does “this and that” mean?’

  ‘Oh nothing.’

  ‘Coveney has told you to wind me up until my springs snap, hasn’t she?’

  ‘Angela Coveney didn’t say anything.’

  ‘Tell me about the chart.’

  ‘What chart?’

  ‘The one that I’m at the top of.’

  ‘No, there’s definitely no chart that you’re at the top of.’

  ‘So you do know about the chart?’

  ‘Did you come out here to ask me about the chart? Or, was there something else on your mind, Sir?’

  ‘Were you and your partner first on the scene?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Who reported it?’

  ‘The woman in the flat directly beneath this one – Flat 26/3. She found blood dripping down her bathroom walls.’

  ‘Did you go in and look?’

  ‘Yes, and then we came up here.’

  ‘How did you get in?’