The Twelve Murders of Christmas (Quigg 1)

by Tim Ellis

  ‘I don’t see that, Sir,’ Lulu said.

  ‘Excuse me?’

  ‘Well, how would the killer know to go round the back to the patio door?’

  ‘Because he knew it would be open,’ Quigg and Perkins said together.

  ‘I’d rather you didn’t try to harmonise with me, Perkins.’

  ‘Sorry, Sir.’

  ‘I mean, this wasn’t an opportunistic murder,’ Lulu said. ‘He’s planned it, planned the disguise, planned that it would be Mrs Partridge in Pear Tree Lane, planned that she’d be on her own, planned what he’d write on the bedroom wall. It confirms what Mr Perkins’ lady friend said about the murder – it was well planned and thought out.’

  ‘Okay, how would he know the patio door was open?’

  Lulu put her hand up again.

  ‘You don’t need to do that,’ Quigg admonished.

  ‘Habit. He either knew her, and therefore knew the door would be open, or he watched and waited from outside... Can he do that?’

  ‘I have no idea. Have you finished with the house, Perkins?’

  ‘Yes.’

  Quigg checked his watch. It was ten past eleven. ‘We have time to go back to the house. It would be useful to get a woman’s perspective of the crime scene. Door key?’

  ‘It’s in the lab.’

  ‘Nip up and get it while Lulu and I finish up here.’

  Perkins pushed his spindly frame up, hunched his shoulders as if he were carrying the sorrows of world, and left.

  ‘It would be good for me to see the crime scene,’ Lulu said.

  ‘Okay, so we’ll go and see the husband, you can buy me lunch... Mmmm, I expect most places will be closed today. We’ll try the hospital cafeteria, and then we’ll be in the right place for the post mortem at two o’clock. After that we’ll go and see the crime scene, and then we’ll come back here and plan our next move.’

  ‘How come I’m paying for lunch?’

  ‘Ah yes, the first thing you should know about me is that I have no money. Because my wife cheated on me with another man, threw me out, and now I never get to see my daughter, the CSA...’

  ‘Who?’

  ‘It’s not a who, it’s a what... the Child Support Agency. They assess how much you earn, take ninety-five percent of any disposable income so that you can barely afford to live, and give it to your spouse so that she can live the high life and go on holiday to Italy for Christmas.’

  ‘I’ll pay for your lunch this time only. Think of it as a charitable donation to the poor and destitute at Christmas.’

  ‘Very philanthropic of you, I’m sure.’

  Perkins entered proffering the key to No.23 Pear Tree Lane.

  ‘Thanks. We’re going to be back in here at about four-thirty if you’re free.’

  ‘I’ll check my diary.’

  ‘Please do.’

  ‘What about the second murder?’ Lulu said.

  ‘Which hasn’t happened yet.’

  ‘As far as we know, but I was thinking about trying to work out who and where.’

  ‘Good luck with that,’ Quigg said. ‘On the second day of Christmas, my true love gave to me... Two Turtle Doves... It could be two members of a family called Turtle or Dove, or something similar to Mrs Partridge in Pear Tree Lane, or Mr & Mrs Dove at the Turtle Sanctuary, or...’

  ‘All right, Sir, I get the idea.’

  ‘Excellent. Shall we go?’

  Chapter Three

  Once Quigg had navigated out of the snow-covered car park he headed down the A219 towards Bishops Park. He turned left up Fulham Road until he reached 3 Epple Road, which was round the corner from Parsons Green tube station.

  Mr Toby Partridge was a loss adjuster and worked for Apiary Insurance. In fact, if someone had asked Quigg to guess what Mr Partridge did for a living, he would have said he worked in insurance. He was a small bald man with hands that moved like hummingbirds looking for nectar. His eyes darted about continuously, and Quigg felt dizzy trying to maintain eye contact.

  ‘I’m sorry to call on Boxing Day, and after what has happened to your ex-wife, but we need to ask you some questions, I’m afraid.’

  ‘Of course, please come in.’

  They walked through the hall and into the living room. Quigg expected to see two children, but the room was empty. There was a lame attempt at a tree, and some Christmas decorations put up as a token gesture, but overall it was not a festive house. The wallpaper, furniture, and carpet were lifeless greens and browns – dreary came to Quigg’s mind.

  ‘Sit down. Can I offer you anything?’

  ‘No, thank you,’ Quigg said looking at Lulu who also shook her head.

  ‘You’re wondering where the children are?’

  ‘It had crossed my mind.’

  ‘They were here yesterday. I try my best, but to be honest I don’t really like children. I let my parents look after them most of the time.’

  ‘So, you were here all day yesterday?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘And your two children will confirm that?’

  ‘My parents as well. I don’t look after the children on my own, I would have no idea what to do with them.’

  He thought of Phoebe. ‘Being a father can certainly be a nerve-racking experience.’

  ‘Yes, the sooner it’s over the better.’

  ‘You’ve been informed your wife was murdered yesterday?’

  He nodded.

  ‘Do you know if...’

  ‘I don’t know anything about Judith, Inspector.’

  ‘Oh?’

  ‘We’ve been divorced for five years. Apart from the contact arrangements for the children, we very rarely spoke. I had no idea what she was doing with her life, whether she had a job, or if she had another man.’

  ‘The children don’t say anything about their mother?’

  ‘She was very strict with them. Told them to say nothing to me about her, and they never have.’

  ‘We will need to speak to them I’m sorry to say, Mr Partridge.’

  ‘I understand. Shall I get my mother to bring them round here tomorrow, say about eleven?’

  ‘That would be fine... Can you tell me what your wife was like before you divorced?’

  ‘Strict... very strict. She was an only child. Her parents were missionaries in Uganda, and they sent her to a boarding school in Kent. Unfortunately, resistance fighters killed her parents in 1985 during the Ugandan Bush War, and she was taken into care.’

  ‘Mmmm, I can see how that might affect a young girl.’

  ‘Why do you ask?’

  ‘We saw no Christmas tree, decorations, or preparations for Christmas dinner... In fact, the only article relating to Christmas was a wreath on the door.’

  ‘No, you wouldn’t, Judith didn’t believe in Christmas. She refused to buy the children Christmas presents, and that’s why they spend Christmas with me. You say there was a wreath on the door? I have no idea where that would have come from, Judith would never have put a wreath on the front door.’

  ‘Really?’ He wondered whether any of Perkins’ team had bagged it, or if it was still hanging on the front door. ‘Excuse me a minute,’ he said. ‘I need to make a phone call.’

  He moved into the hall and called Perkins.

  ‘Hello?

  ‘Did any of your people bag the wreath on the front door?’

  ‘What for?’

  ‘We‘ve learned that the killer might have put it there.’

  ‘Oh! I’ll send someone back to collect it.’

  ‘Good.’

  He ended the call and returned to the living room.

  ‘I was just saying, Sir, she didn’t suffer.’

  Lulu had no idea whether Mrs Partridge had suffered or not, but it was a nice thing to say. ‘No, she didn’t suffer.’

  ‘I’m glad,’ Mr Partridge said. ‘She was an awful woman, but I wouldn’t have wanted her to suffer.’

  He offered his card. ‘If there’s anything else you can think of t
hat might be relevant to our investigation, please ring me.’

  ‘I will.’

  ‘And we’ll return tomorrow at eleven o’clock to speak to the children. They do know, don’t they?’

  ‘No, not yet. There didn’t seem much point in spoiling their Christmas. We’ll tell them in the morning before you get here.’

  They made their way out to the car. A snowball flew past Quigg’s head.

  ‘If one of those hits me,’ he shouted to a group of young children across the road. ‘I’ll arrest you for assaulting a police officer.’

  A hale of snowballs rained down on them accompanied by the sound of laughter.

  He ran to open the car door. ‘There’s no respect for the law anymore, they should bring back hanging.’

  Lulu laughed. ‘What, for children?’

  ‘Get them early, that’s what I say.’

  ‘They have to be taught the difference between right and wrong.’

  A snowball splattered on the driver’s window. ‘Criminal damage that’s what that is. We should go over there and clap them in irons.’

  ‘It’s Christmas, Sir.’

  ‘Huh.’

  ***

  He got back onto the A219 and drove directly to Hammersmith Hospital. He imagined that people would be at home with their families, stuffing their faces with turkey sandwiches, mince pies, and watching a re-run of Polar Express. Instead, they were clogging up the roads, so that it took him an hour and ten minutes to travel what should have taken him about twenty-five minutes.

  It also appeared to Quigg – due to the number of cars in the car park – that a lot of people were spending their Christmas at the hospital.

  ‘I’m glad I’m not ill,’ he said to Lulu as they walked through the car park towards the hospital entrance.

  ‘One day you will be.’

  ‘You’re the ghost of Christmas future sent here to warn me about the way I live my life, aren’t you?’

  ‘We’ll all be sick one day. A lot of things they can fix, but some they can’t. Sometimes, they can keep you hanging on when the right thing is to let you go.’

  ‘You’re a ray of sunshine. Can we discuss something a bit more joyful.’

  ‘You started it. Do you think Mr Partridge is our killer?’

  ‘Hardly.’

  ‘It looks like it’s a stranger then?’

  ‘So it would seem.’

  In the cafeteria, turkey and stuffing was still on the menu. As he hadn’t had any Christmas dinner, he chose that. The Christmas doggy bag his mum had kindly brought him back from the Darby and Joan Club last night had gone straight in the bin – he was desperate, but not desperate enough to want a dose of salmonella poisoning.

  Lulu chose a salad.

  ‘A salad on Boxing Day?’

  ‘I don’t want a big backside.’

  ‘Is that an evolutionary thing with black women?’

  ‘I don’t know, but I don’t want one. My mother has a big backside.’

  ‘So, you’re worried it runs in the family – like mother, like daughter?’

  ‘I have four older sisters, they all have big backsides.’

  ‘I see, so this is an obsession?’

  She smiled. ‘What’s your obsession?’

  ‘Dead bodies. I have necrophobia.’

  ‘Yes, I’ve heard that people are drawn to their fears. A train driver will be afraid of trains, a nurse will have a fear of blood...’

  ‘I didn’t know you were a psychotherapist as well.’

  ‘I have a very high IQ, I know a lot of things.’

  ‘So it would seem. Do you want me to ring you when I get the phone call about the second murder.’

  ‘Why are you asking?’

  ‘Well, I’m grateful that you’re helping me...’

  ‘That’s how you see it, is it? We’re not equal partners?’

  ‘I thought you might see it like that?’

  ‘I don’t. I have invites to parties, romantic meals, and other weird stuff, but I’d prefer to be solving a murder with you.’

  ‘Okay, equal partners.’

  ‘Good.’

  After they’d eaten they made their way to the Mortuary, which was hidden away in the basement. Debbie Poulson was just about to start the post mortem, and Judith Partridge was laid out on the stainless steel table. ‘It’s not like you to be on time, Quigg.’

  He felt sick. His hands were shaking in his pockets, and sweat began trickling down his back. ‘I know, Sergeant Begone is keeping me on track.’

  He introduced Lulu, and then Debbie began cutting, sawing, exsanguinating, and removing the organs one at a time as she spoke into an overhead microphone.

  At last it was over, and she left Owen Bowen, the mortuary technician, to close up the Y-shaped opening in Mrs Partridge’s torso.

  ‘Nothing more than you already know, I’m afraid. Stabbed in the heart with a kitchen knife, death would have occurred within seconds. No sexual assault; no hairs, fibres or bodily fluids.’

  ‘What about the face?’

  ‘He used a scalpel to cut all round it, prised the skin away from the adipose layer at the forehead, and pulled. Not very elegant, but it worked.’

  ‘Thanks, Debbie. You’ll send...’

  ‘Of course. What do you think I’m going to do with the report, put it in a bottle and drop it in the Thames?’

  ‘Sorry.’ He always embarrassed himself in front of Debbie, like a dancer with two left feet.

  They left the Mortuary and began walking up the stairs and through Reception back to the car.

  ‘You fancy her, don’t you?’

  ‘My private life is not a topic for conversation.’

  ‘I don’t think you have a private life.’

  Lulu was right. Since Caitlin had thrown him out, what did he have left but his job? He hated living with his mum. Beryl was all right in small doses, but after a year she was wearing him down, and because of that he spent more time at work. No, he didn’t have a private life, but that was no reason to talk about it.

  ‘So, as far as we know, the motive isn’t sexual,’ Lulu said. ‘He killed Mrs Partridge because of her name and where she lived, but why?’

  ‘What do you mean, why?’

  ‘All right, I get that Mrs Partridge is the Partridge in a Pear Tree, but why? What’s it all for?’

  ‘Sometimes, there is no reason. Sometimes, the reason only makes sense to the killer.’

  ‘Well yes, I understand that, but we should at least try to identify a reason. If we do, it might help us catch him.’

  ‘It might also send us off in directions which waste our time.’

  ‘We wouldn’t know it was wasting our time until afterwards.’

  ‘I’m going to humour you, your majesty...’

  ‘You’ve heard?’

  ‘Everyone in the station knows, and I’m sure Sgt Jones was at the root of it, as he is with everything else that’s unsavoury or illegal.’

  ‘Unsavoury?’

  ‘Leaking people’s personal information, which they’d rather keep private. So, now that I know, what does it mean?’

  ‘My father is Chief Mangosuthu Buthelezi. He’s chief of the Buthelezi tribe, and founder and leader of the Inkatha Freedom Party.’

  ‘Okay, I’ve heard of the Inkatha Freedom Party, they were involved with the African National Congress in dismantling apartheid?’

  ‘Yes. It wasn’t as simple as that, but that’s another story. Anyway, my father’s mother was Princess Constance Magogo Sibilile Mantithi Ngangezinye kaDinuzulu, and she was the daughter of the Zulu King Dinuzulu kaCetshwayo and Queen Silomo. King Cetshwayo was ruler when the Zulu defeated the British at Isandlwana and Rorke’s Drift, so I’m a direct descendent of the original Zulu royalty. Did you have any ancestors at Rorke’s Drift?’

  ‘I have no idea.’

  ‘My ancestors could have killed your ancestors.’

  ‘Or the other way round.’

  ‘We know all o
ur ancestors. We believe that their spirits have the power to intervene in our lives.’

  ‘So, if you’re honest to goodness royalty, what are you doing here with a beat up old copper on a freezing Boxing Day hunting a psychopathic serial killer? You should be somewhere hot, having oil rubbed into your toes, being fanned by lackeys, and drinking iced-tea through a straw.’

  ‘Oh, I could be, but this is the only place I want to be. I’m following in my grandmother and father’s footsteps. They could have done nothing with their lives, but they didn’t. I want to be remembered for more than being Princess S’bu Nombuso Sibilile Silomo Ntombikayise Buthelezi.’

  ‘Excuse me, I thought your name was Lulu Begone?’

  ‘You could call me by my given names if you want to?’

  ‘No, I think Lulu will do just fine.’

  ‘That’s why I chose it. Also, I didn’t want any special treatment just because I’m a princess, and the youngest daughter of Chief Mangosuthu Buthelezi.’

  ‘So, how many people in this little tribe your father is Chief of?’

  ‘Seven million – give or take one or two.’

  Quigg’s eyes opened wide. ‘Now that is a lot of people. We’re not talking about a nothing tribe in the back of beyond then?’

  ‘No, the amaZulu are the largest ethnic group in South Africa, and the Buthelezi tribe the largest tribe.’

  ‘I could call you Princess S’bu?’

  ‘Lulu is just fine, but you’ve side-tracked me.’

  ‘I have?’

  ‘We were discussing a reason why the killer is doing what he’s doing.’

  ‘We were?’

  They climbed in the car. Quigg started the engine and put the heater on full blast.

  ‘Oh I see, this is your way of not discussing it?’ Lulu turned the heater knob back to half way.

  ‘It is?’

  ‘Well, you should know that I never give up. I’ll keep hounding you, I’ll follow you home, I’ll sit in a chair in your bedroom and watch you sleep until we have this discussion.’

  ‘You didn’t tell me you were scary, Lulu?’

  ‘Some men think I am.’

  ‘We’d better talk about it then, but I don’t see it going anywhere.’

  ‘These are my thoughts on the first killing...’