by Tim Ellis
They crept out of the mattress store and she went to her office and passed him the file. ‘I think those two are who you’re looking for.’
‘Really?’
‘I’m not just an attractive debt collector, you know.’
‘Thanks for your dedication and hard work, Sergeant.’
‘My pleasure, Sir.’
***
It was quarter to eight.
Ruth stripped off her clothes and searched in her wardrobe for something dark and warm to wear that was fashionable and would be appropriate for what they were planning to do. She found a black military-style jumpsuit that had cost her over three hundred pounds and would do just fine. She slipped into the jumpsuit, zipped it up and covered the top with a black Khujo Mia jacket that had a fur-lined hood and cost her a hundred and fifty pounds in the January sales.
Lucy had finally got rid of Randy Gerber, but because she’d been using her bedroom as a make-believe panic room to confuse the dirty police, she hadn’t been able to get in to change her clothes and prepare for Dennis Ford and Nate Cullen arriving.
Now, she was in a rush, although the money exchange wasn’t due to take place until ten o’clock, so there was some flexibility.
Lucy appeared at the door and signalled her to come out of the bedroom.
All she was wearing were her bra and panties. ‘Can I put some clothes on first?’
Lucy shook her head and crooked her finger again.
‘What?’ she said, as she left the bedroom. ‘You can see I’m in a bit of a hurry because of you.’
Lucy took her by the elbow, led her into the living room to where Duffy was ready and waiting for her sprawled on the sofa, leaned in conspiratorially and said, ‘He went two places while he was here – your bedroom, and before he left – the toilet.’
‘Yes?’
‘My guess is that he’s bugged one or both places.’
‘Bugged!’
‘Miniature cameras and microphones. They wouldn’t miss an opportunity to find out what we know.’
‘You’ve let me get undressed with people watching me?’
‘You look fairly decent for a middle-aged shrew. Maybe you should wiggle your fat arse and shake your tits a bit, give them something to strangle their snakes over.’
‘I know you are only teasing me.’
‘You wish. Anyway, don’t divulge any secrets in your bedroom, and don’t fart in the toilet either.’
Duffy laughed.
‘You are so crude, Lucy Neilson.’
‘Flattery will get you everywhere.’
‘And we’ll have to leave the bugs in place,’ Duffy said. ‘Otherwise, they’ll know that we know they know.’
Lucy shook her head. ‘Yes and no. It’s not my annex, is it? If all they see are Ruth’s tits and fat arse, and hear her mumbling to herself, they’ll soon figure out something isn’t right. I’ll find the bug later and make it appear as though I’ve accidentally covered it with some clothing. They won’t be able to see anything, and all they’ll hear are a few muffled sounds.’
Ruth pulled a face. ‘I hate you Lucy Neilson.’
‘The feeling’s mutual. Okay, I know where you’ll be at ten o’clock, so I’m going to watch the CCTV monitor and check that the van follows you, and then . . .’
‘Where is Quigg?’ Ruth said, looking around.
They both stared at Duffy.
Duffy shrugged. ‘Why are you looking at me? I don’t know.’
Lucy called him. ‘Where are you, Quigg? Stop fucking around and get home now. Things are happening here and we need you.’ She ended the call. ‘Voicemail.’
‘Can I finish putting my clothes on?’ Ruth asked. ‘Or should I go out like this, do you think?’
‘Like that,’ Lucy said. ‘Less is always more.’
There was a knock on the living room door.
Ruth squealed, ran back into her bedroom and listened to what was being said as she got dressed.
‘What do you want this time, numbnuts?’ Lucy called.
‘There’s two men in a van outside. They say their names are Dennis Ford and Nate Cullen and they’ve come to pick Ruth up.’
‘Tell them she’ll be out in five.’
‘Will do. And my name’s Steve, by the way.’
‘Okay, numbnuts.’
‘I’m ready to go,’ she said to Duffy once she was dressed. She’d thought about taking her small rucksack, but all she needed was her phone, notebook and pen. Dennis Ford would have everything else she needed.
Duffy stood up. ‘Let’s go then.’
She turned to Lucy. ‘And what will you be doing?’
‘Don’t worry about me – I’ve got your back.’
‘And you’ll tell Quigg what we’re doing?’
‘If he ever gets home.’
‘Good. At least then I don’t have to do it.’
‘Yeah, don’t you worry yourselves none. Good old Lucy will pick up the shitty end of the stick.’
She and Duffy made their way out to the waiting blue Mercedes van. It had a collapsed satellite array attached to a framework on the roof, aerials and an enclosed independent power source.
The side door was open, and a smiling Dennis Ford was waiting for them. ‘I was just about to send in a search party,’ he said. ‘And who might this angel of beauty be?’
‘This is Duffy.’
‘Enchanted,’ Dennis said, kissing the back of Duffy’s hand as she climbed inside. He was short, stocky, with short hair surrounding a central bald patch and wore a sand coloured threadbare fuzzy Sherpa fleece.
‘Likewise, I’m sure,’ Duffy said, sitting down on one of the seats around a table at the rear of the van.
‘Okay then,’ Ford said. ‘Let’s go and make some news.’
Chapter Nine
‘Yes, Sergeant,’ Thackeray said into his phone.
‘Things are happening here, Sir.’
‘Such as?’
‘We intercepted a call to a building company from the hacker – Lucy Neilson. She was making enquiries about installing a panic room.’
‘A panic room? What’s that about?’
‘She said she was expecting uninvited guests soon.’
‘Us?’
‘That’s my guess.’
‘I wonder what Lupton told Lynch to make her think that we’d be paying them a visit?’
‘Well, whatever it was, it was enough to spook them.’
‘Go on.’
‘I sent Gavin Roberts in, under an assumed name of course, as one of our panic room advisers. He made some drawings, took photographs and planted a couple of bugs in the annex and a toilet.’
‘A toilet?’
‘It was the best he could do under the circumstances.’
‘I can’t see us learning much from that.’
‘With three women in the house I expect it’ll keep the boys entertained.’
‘Is that it?’
‘No. We’re on the move now.’
‘Oh?’
‘A van with a satellite array on the roof arrived and picked up Lynch and Duffy. It’s registered to a Dennis Ford, who’s a photo-journalist.’
‘That doesn’t sound good. Any idea where they’re going?’
‘No, not yet, but they’re on the A4 heading towards Pimlico.’
‘Churchill Gardens Road?’
‘That’s what the lads and I think.’
‘And this Ford is a cameraman?’
‘Yes.’
‘They’re going to film the weekly collection as proof of police corruption, aren’t they?’
‘Sounds like it.’
‘Well, Lupton will be having an accident very soon. I’ve set things in motion. So we need to nip this in the bud now. You know what needs to be done, don’t you?’
‘I think I have a general idea.’
‘Also, the hacker has to be silenced before she actually installs a panic room and it becomes impossible to get to her.’
‘Understood, Gov.�
�
‘And that’s everyone, isn’t it?’
‘Unless you want us to get rid of Quigg as well?’
‘Mmmm! I don’t think we have any choice, do we? If you kill his three women . . . Did you say there were four children in the house as well?’
‘Yes.’
‘Old or young?’
‘Young – all below four years old.’
‘Let the children live. I’m not keen on killing children if I don’t have to. Just kill Lynch, Duffy and Ford. Maybe an explosion in the satellite van – I’ve heard those things can be lethal.’
‘You said it, Gov.’
‘But make sure you move the van first. We don’t want people asking why they were at Churchill Gardens Road.’
‘Understood. What about Neilson and Quigg?’
‘Sex-fuelled drug overdose?’
‘I can make it look like that, but you’re forgetting about the guards and the dog from Halycon Security.’
‘Yes, I had forgotten about them. Any suggestions?’
‘If we kill or disable the guards, then Neilson and Quigg’s deaths are not going to look like an accident. In fact, I don’t see any way around those guards.’
‘No. Well, if we can’t make it look like an accident, then we just go in and kill them all. I’m sure Quigg has lots of enemies who’d like to see him dead.’
‘Don’t we all?’
‘Exactly.’
‘Leave it with me, Gov. Once we’ve dealt with Lynch and her team of busybodies, we’ll go back and sort out the other two.’
‘It’s the only way, Sergeant. It’ll look suspicious, but no one will trace any of it back to us. And Lupton’s accidental death will be totally unconnected to Lynch or Quigg’s deaths.’
‘I’ll be in contact, Sir.’
‘Okay, Sergeant. Good work.’
‘Thanks, Gov.’
He ended the call. Lupton was a pain in the arse. Well, he’d get his soon enough. And all the other deaths would be down to him as well. All they needed was for it to get out-of-hand and things could become very messy indeed. They had a nice little thing going now. Everything was running smoothly, and a few do-gooders weren’t going to spoil it for them.
***
‘Yes?’
‘I need your help.’
‘As I recall, the last time we spoke you told me to fuck off and leave you alone.’
‘I did say that, and I meant every word of it. I don’t need your help as a father. I think we can both agree you were fucking useless at that. I need your help as a killer.’
‘As you’re my only daughter, I’m prepared to listen.’
‘Very generous.’ She told him about Ruth and Duffy meeting the whistle-blower at the V and A Museum; about employing Halycon Security; about the van parked at the end of the road with the two men inside the cab; about Ruth, Duffy and Dennis Ford going to get evidence of police corruption at 14 Churchill Gardens Road in Pimlico and the two other addresses; about just watching on the security monitor the van with the corrupt police officers inside following them to Pimlico.
‘And what do you want me to do?’
‘I think that’s fairly obvious.’
‘Killing police officers – even corrupt ones – comes with a whole sackful of consequences. Are you sure you really want that?’
‘I’m sure. It’s either them or us. If we don’t kill them, they’ll come in here and kill us after they’ve dealt with Ruth and the others.’
‘I have a better idea, if you’re prepared to listen?’
‘Go on.’
‘What if I take them alive?’
‘The only good bent copper is a dead bent copper.’
‘Very true, unless you were trying to prove they were bent.’
‘Keep going.’
‘First, they could act as hostages, bargaining chips against any lethal force by other like-minded bent coppers.’
‘Okay.’
‘Second, they could be providers of information.’
‘They won’t talk. And even if they did, no one would believe we didn’t torture them to get it.’
‘I’m not a technical wizard like my very beautiful and intelligent daughter, but isn’t there some way you can broadcast their confessions?’
‘Ah!’
‘That way, there’d be no need to kill any police officers.’
‘We just snatch them, use them as hostages, get them to provide us with information we can verify and confess to being corrupt live on-air?’
‘Yes.’
‘I like it.’
‘I’m not completely useless then?’
‘As a father you are. And don’t think that any of this makes up for your pathetic attempts at fatherhood in the past – it doesn’t. There’ll be no redemption, no vindication, no salvation. That boat has sailed off into the distance and been reported missing in the Bermuda Triangle, so don’t hold onto any false hope, pie in the sky, or pipe dream that you’ll be awarded father of the year in the near future.’
‘I understand.’
‘Make sure you do. As far as I’m concerned, you’re simply someone I can use to get a job done. You can either do it because of our biological relationship, which might mean something to you but not to me, or I can pay you for your work – it’s up to you.’
‘I don’t need your money.’
‘As a tight-arsed bitch, that’s music to my ears.’
‘What do you want me to do?’
‘Well, Ruth and her team of intrepid busybodies are going to find a vantage point in order to get the exchange of money on film, and then follow the two coppers to a central counting house. That’s really all I know about what they’re doing. The bent coppers are following them in a white Ford Transit van. I know there are two men in the cab, but there might also be more in the back. Added to that, I think there’s a separate surveillance van somewhere around here that needs taking into custody.’
‘What about you?’
‘I’d love to join you, but I’ve been left here holding the fucking babies again. Quigg’s gone missing, Ruth and Duffy are out there risking their lives to get to the truth, and the nanny only works nine to five. Oh! And there are three security guards and a mutt here to keep me safe.’
‘I’ll call you on this number when I have them all secured. I’ll give you a location and we’ll go from there.’
‘Okay.’
The line went dead.
She hadn’t really wanted to call her father, but it seemed to be the simplest solution. There really was no time or freedom to organise anything else. Her father – Jack Neilson – may not have been any kind of father, but he was a very good killer, and he had resources she didn’t have.
Where the fuck was Quigg? She phoned him again, but was diverted to voicemail. She left a message: ‘You won’t need a vasectomy, because I’m going to castrate you when you eventually do get home, Quigg.’
She checked on the children. They were fast asleep. She went to the annex, grabbed her laptop and returned to the living room. It was no good locking herself in her annex when the children were at the other end of the church.
‘All right, numbnuts?’ she said as she passed.
He pulled a face. ‘Steve.’
She shook her head. ‘No, me not Steve, me Lucy. You numbnuts. There’s no Steve here. Never has been, and never will be – understand?’
‘Very funny.’
She sat on the sofa and decided to do some research on the different aspects of the haunted house. First she carried out a search for anything on Regina Humblin née Morpeth. Regina Morpeth’s ancestors were mainly coal miners from Durham. The name itself derived from an actual place in Northumberland in 1256 and meant “murder path”. It also meant that the family were already connected to death.
Regina Humblin was described as an “up-and-coming artist” whatever that meant. She had a Facebook page entitled “Regina’s Art”, anyone wanting to buy prints, original paintings, commission her for
portraits and so forth were directed to her website: “Regina Humblin – Artist”. She also had Twitter, Instagram, Snapchat and Pinterest accounts, which again directed interested parties back to her website, but there were no references to Regina’s dark art, and no signed or unsigned examples on the internet.
As Quigg had said, Stanley Humblin was an air traffic controller at London City Airport. The family were of humble origins like the name suggested. His father was a painter and decorator, and his mother a shop assistant and charity worker. He was the first Humblin to attend university – London Metropolitan University.
She knew that the houses on Copperfield Street in Southwark were designed and built in AD 1850 by architect Sir Horace Jones for upper class patrons. People paid a percentage in advance for the privilege of owning a house that had been built to their individual specifications. She had an appointment at ten o’clock in the morning at the Henry Cole Wing in the Victoria and Albert Museum on Cromwell Road, South Kensington. Hopefully, Sir Horace Jones’ records would identify who had originally bought the house.
In the meantime, she completed Form HC1 on the Land Registry website to request a copy of the title deeds, which were paper documents showing the chain of ownership for the land and property. Also, each change of ownership for 66 Copperfield Street was recorded in all previous editions of the land register. The registers weren’t held online, so there was no point hacking into the site. It was a back-up plan that was all, because she might find nothing at the Henry Cole Wing, and the Land Registry would take at least a week to send her the information.
Next, she looked at imaginary friends and discovered that recent research in the US revealed sixty-five percent of children aged up to seven years old have or have had an imaginary friend. In a UK study of 1,800 children forty-six percent had them. However, nearly all of the children knew that their imaginary friends weren’t real.
Nearly all! What did that mean?
When she examined the possibility that imaginary friends might be ghosts, things became a bit more creepy. As she’d suggested to Quigg, ghosts approach children because they were more open to the paranormal than adults and closer to the edge of reality. There were really scary stories about children’s imaginary friends. For example, a three-year-old girl – the same age as Briar – had an imaginary friend who had no face and lived in her mum and dad’s bedroom; another, called “The Captain”, used to tell a seven-year-old boy that when he grew up his job would be to kill people. The Captain would tell him who needed to be killed, and that he’d get used to killing after a while; and then there was the boy who spoke to angels and was overheard to say, “I can’t kill him, he’s my only dad!”