by Tim Ellis
With the search, but not with the smelly helper, she thought. ‘Yes, it does, doesn’t it? Can I obtain a copy of this record?’
‘Of course, for a small fee.’
‘How small?’
‘Fifteen pounds per page.’
‘That is small.’
‘We’re not here to make a profit, we simply cover our costs.’
‘Yes please, then.’
‘Certainly.’ He right-clicked the mouse, pressed “Print” and a box requiring a password appeared. ‘Close your eyes,’ he said.
She did as he asked and heard the keyboard taps as he typed in his password.
‘All right,’ he said. ‘We can collect it from “Printing” on the way out.’ He pointed to the screen again. ‘You’ve hit the jackpot. There are five journals attached to the record – one for each convict ship he sailed on.
She clicked on the first link: ADM 101/109/1. It took a while to load, but eventually the first page appeared:
CONVICT SHIPS
Journal of the Convict Ship: Hoogbley
Henry Gray – Surgeon Superintendent
MEDICAL AND SURGICAL JOURNAL OF THE HOOGBLEY CONVICT SHIP, between May 4 1853 and January 21, 1854 during which Time the said ship has been deployed in Conveying Convicts from Southampton to Van Diemen’s Land.
Each page had three sections:
Men’s Names, Ages, Qualities, Time when and where taken Ill;
The History, Symptoms, Treatment and daily Progress of the Disease or Hurt;
When discharged to Duty, Died, or sent to Hospital.
She navigated down the document, which contained a list of Surgeon Superintendent Henry Gray’s patients during the journey, as well as watercolour illustrations; ink sketches of wounds, birds, flowers, maps, charts showing variations in the climate, examples of the lay-out of the vessel, ideas about ventilation, and details of Van Diemen’s Land and the people encountered. To her horror, it also contained ink sketches of chained naked women being mutilated, dismembered or tortured by a man who had his back to the viewer.
‘Dear me!’ Geoffrey said. ‘Your Surgeon Superintendent Henry Gray had an active imagination.’
‘He did, didn’t he?’ She took out her phone and navigated to the pictures that Lucy had sent her of Mrs Humblin’s dark artwork.
Geoffrey screwed up his face and said, ‘They’re the same. How is that possible? Do you have copies of the journals?’
‘I don’t know how it’s possible, and no I don’t have copies of the journals. But I will need copies of these journals.’
He leaned in to whisper to her. ‘I shouldn’t be telling you this, but printing off five journals at fifteen pounds a page would probably cost you in excess of a thousand pounds. Do you have a memory stick?’
She shook her head.
A USB stick appeared in his hand and he pushed it into the slot at the side of the monitor. ‘I shouldn’t be doing this, but if you were accessing the journal online, you could simply download them to your computer.’ He leaned across her, right-clicked each file and saved it to the memory stick, which he then passed to her. ‘There you are.’
‘Thank you.’
‘My pleasure. That’s what we’re here for – to help.’
She stood up, shook Geoffrey’s sweaty hand and on the way out of the building collected the printed record of Surgeon Superintendent Henry Gray’s naval service.
Outside, she took half a dozen deep breaths, wiped her hands with a wet wipe from her bag and walked to the station.
***
‘Lucy’s done what?’ Quigg said, nearly choking on his coffee.
He and Ruth were in the Wood Grange Cafeteria – the local greasy spoon – located across the road from the station, which is where they’d first met.
‘Abducted the police who were outside our house.’
‘That’s bordering on crazy! In fact, it is crazy. We’ll all face a firing squad. Abducting police officers! I’ve never heard anything like it.’
‘They are corrupt.’
‘That’s no excuse. There’s a legal process that must be followed. Everybody is innocent until proven guilty.’
‘They followed me and Duffy last night. They were going to kill us, and then go back to the house and kill the guards, Monty the dog, you, Lucy and the children.’
His mouth gaped open and he stared at her dumbfounded. ‘How can you possibly know that?’
‘Jack Neilson caught them coming to kill us. We were on top of a school roof filming two corrupt officers collecting money from a Russian prostitution and trafficking racket in Pimlico. Anyway, we didn’t even know these men were there, or that they were going to kill us, but Jack Neilson disabled them and took them and their van somewhere. Afterwards, Lucy went and got the truth out of them. Duffy and I didn’t know any of this was happening until this morning when Lucy came home, because we followed the two police officers with the money to a house in Knightsbridge.’
‘Where did Jack Neilson take the police officers and their van?’
‘I don’t know.’
‘How did Lucy get the truth out of trained police officers?’
‘I told her I didn’t want to know that. You’ll have to ask her.’
‘Oh, don’t worry, I will. Lucy Neilson has a lot of explaining to do. Not least, she needs to explain where my Mercedes is.’
‘She came home after you’d left this morning.’
‘Typical. I wouldn’t be surprised if she was waiting round the corner for me to leave.’
She held out her phone. ‘Look.’
He took it and squinted at the photograph of notes on the side of a van. ‘What’s all this?’
‘What Lucy has found out so far – names of corrupt officers, bank accounts, telephone numbers, connections . . . It’s terrible, Quigg. The police have turned into the criminals.’
‘Not all the police, Ruth. Some of us still abide by the rule of law.’ He pointed to the screen. ‘Who’s this DCI Victor Thackeray?’
‘Don’t you know him?’
‘No.’
‘He seems to be in charge.’
‘And what about John Lupton at the IOPC?’
‘I think he’s my whistle-blower.’
Just then, he looked up at the television screen in the corner of the restaurant by the counter. The female newsreader was reporting that John Lupton – the Clerk of Committees at the IOPC – had been found dead in his apartment. It appeared to be a suicide, but because of the sensitive nature of his job, an independent investigation by Scotland Yard would be carried out.’
‘They killed him,’ Ruth said.
‘You don’t know that.’
‘Lucy found the CCTV security footage of my meeting with the whistle-blower from the Victoria and Albert Museum and Thackeray was there watching us. They were tapping Lupton’s phone. He led them to me, which is why they were parked up outside our home and why they were monitoring all our telephone communications . . . Jack and Lucy have got them as well.’
‘Them! Them who?’
‘There was the van at the end of the road, which had five police officers in, and also a surveillance van on the corner of Goldhawk Mews with three officers inside . . .’
‘Eight police officers?’
‘Yes.’
He shook his head. ‘Are there any police left in London?’
‘I think you’re exaggerating.’
‘And you don’t know where Jack and Lucy have taken them?’
‘No.’
‘What’s she doing with them?’
‘I don’t really know, but she’s helping me to find out how far this police corruption spreads.’
‘I shouldn’t think they’ll be telling her willingly.’
‘You think she’s torturing them?’
‘This is Lucy we’re talking about – she has no boundaries.’ He took a swallow of coffee. ‘I want a family meeting tonight at seven o’clock. Everybody is to be there, especially Lucy with the keys to my Mercedes and a
long list of explanations.’
‘And you want me to tell Lucy?’
‘You seem to be her current partner-in-crime. Yes, you can tell her. And when you do speak to her, you can also tell her that if she doesn’t turn up, I’ll put out an All Ports Bulletin for her.’
‘She knows you wouldn’t do that.’
‘I might.’
‘I’ll tell her, but she’ll laugh when I do.’
‘Just tell her to get herself back to the house tonight – we all need to talk this through.’
‘I will.’
‘And how does Duffy fit into all of this?’
‘She doesn’t really. She came with me last night because it was my first time out investigating after giving birth to Luke, but because Lucy is helping me now, Duffy is investigating the haunted house.’
‘Oh! Okay. I suppose that makes sense.’
‘She wasn’t sure at first, but I think she’s warmed to the idea.’
‘Right. Well, I have to go now.’ He leaned over and gave her a lingering kiss on the mouth.
‘You’re not getting sex, Quigg.’
‘There was no ulterior motive to my kiss, but I have to say that I’m beginning to feel like the kid at school who’s being bullied for his dinner money.’
‘You would make a good actor in a Greek tragedy.’
‘Thanks for your sympathy!’
She smiled.
He dodged the traffic on Hammersmith Broadway and made his way back into the police station and up the stairs to the squad room.
A thin attractive woman was sitting at one of the spare desks in the squad room surrounded by boxes of the old Apostles’ case files that had been brought up from storage. She had light-brown hair scooped back into a ponytail, an angular jawline and thin lips.
He approached her with his hand outstretched. ‘DS Hawking?’
She stood up, took his hand in hers and proceeded to crush it. ‘Yes, Sir.’
His face must have betrayed the searing pain in his right hand, but Hawking simply smiled at him.
‘Nice to meet you, Sergeant. Rummage seems to have sorted you out?’ he said, indicating the desk, mug of coffee and the boxes.
‘She has.’
He pulled up a chair and proceeded to tell her the complete story of the Apostles.
‘You and your daughter Phoebe were lucky.’
‘Mmmm!’
‘Why do you say that?’
‘I’ve lost her again.’
‘That’s careless, if you don’t mind me saying so, Sir?’
‘I do mind, Sergeant.’
‘And now you’ve lost your son – Joe – as well.’
‘I didn’t lose him. In fact, I didn’t even know about him until last night. None of it is my fault, so you can get that out of your head right away, Hawking.’
‘If you say so, Sir.’
‘I do say so. Your job is to find out who abducted my son, not start pointing fingers of blame at me. And with that in mind, I’d like you to . . .’
‘I know what to do.’
‘That’s good, because I’ll expect a progress report at five o’clock tonight. Is that all right with you?’
‘I’m in charge of the case.’
‘No one is saying otherwise. However, not only am I the father of the abducted child, a Detective Inspector with a wealth of relevant experience, but I’m also a valuable asset with knowledge about the case that you don’t possess, so it’s in your best interests to provide me with a progress report – am I clear?’
‘You’re clear, Sir.’
‘Good. I’m out and about for the rest of the day following up leads on a murder investigation, but if you need to talk – call me.’ He passed her a business card with his mobile number on.
‘Understood.’
‘Rummage?’
‘Sir?’
‘Are you ready?’
‘When you are.’
‘Do you know where we’re going?’
‘Let’s . . .’
His phone vibrated. ‘Quigg.’
‘It is the renowned Professor Alice Neuville.’
He wondered why she kept referring to herself as “renowned”. Maybe she suffered from an inferiority complex and needed therapy herself. ‘Yes, Professor?’
‘I have examined the drawings you sent me.’
‘And what’s your opinion?’
‘I need to meet with Regina Humblin this afternoon at about four o’clock if that’s all right with you and her?’
He thought about what he had on today. He was on his way to visit the relatives and home addresses of the alleged headless victims; he then needed to attend the post-mortems at two o’clock; and then at five o’clock he needed to be back here for an update by DS Hawking; at seven he had the family meeting to get to the bottom of exactly what Lucy was up to . . . Yes, as far as he knew, he could fit four o’clock into his schedule.
‘I’ll contact Mrs Humblin and call you back, Professor.’
‘All right.’
Regina agreed to the meeting.
He informed the Professor and then phoned Duffy.
‘Hello, Sir.’
‘Hi, Duffy. I believe you’re my new paranormal assistant?’
‘No.’
‘No?’
‘I’m the lead investigator. You’re the assistant.’
‘Are there any perks to being your assistant?’
She laughed. ‘What did you call for?’
‘Oh yes! I’m meeting a psychiatrist called Professor Alice Neuville at Copperfield Street at four o’clock.’
‘Why?’
‘Well, with the dark drawings she can’t recall doing, it’s possible Regina has a split personality.’
‘No, I don’t think so. I found out . . .’
‘Listen, I’m just on way out of the station now, Duffy. Can you meet us there at four?’
‘I’ll be there.’
‘You can tell me all about what you’ve found out then.’
‘Okay, see you there.’
He ended the call.
‘Five o’clock is fluid, Sergeant Hawking.’
‘Okay, Sir. I haven’t got anywhere else I need to be.’
‘Have you found yourself somewhere to stay yet?’
‘No, but I will.’
‘Good.’ He made his way out and followed Rummage down the stairs.
She was waiting for him in the carpark being buffeted by the wind.
‘Are you on a go-slow, Rummage?’
‘You have the keys. Which one is it?’
He pointed to Duffy’s red Toyota Aygo and held out the keys. ‘That one.’
She didn’t take the proffered keys. ‘I think I’ll let you drive today.’
‘Me?’
‘You obviously know how to drive it, because you drove it here.’
‘Well yes, but you normally drive.’
‘And you normally have a Mercedes for me to drive, not a funky little town car.’
‘Yes, but it’s a woman’s car.’
‘Not this woman’s car – you drive.’
‘I won’t forget this, Rummage.’
‘I hope you won’t forget to bring the Mercedes tomorrow, as well.’
***
As usual, she pounced on him as soon as he opened the door. He wasn’t really in the mood, but he went through the motions anyway. She didn’t really talk about her husband, but he imagined that their sex life was non-existent. They had no children, and he wondered why. He’d asked her once, but she’d simply ignored the question and moved on to something else. It was her way of telling him it was off-limits and none of his business, so he’d never mentioned it again.
During the trip over to Birdcage Walk, he’d heard that John Lupton had committed suicide, so he’d transferred the sixty thousand pounds into Medusa’s offshore account. He’d also received a call from Inspector Charlie Nunn at the NCA, who had sent him the details via his phone, on Quigg’s menagerie. The bottom line was
that none of them had the wherewithal to take out Pratt and his team of trained police officers. The only anomaly in the information pumped out by the HOLMES database was Lucy Neilson’s parents – he couldn’t find them. He was sure it was just a glitch in the system. He’d keep looking, of course. He had a number of other sources to try, so there was nothing to be alarmed about for the moment.
‘It’s like screwing a corpse,’ Delilah said.
‘I didn’t realise you had a passion for necrophilia.’
‘What I do have is a passion for sex – lots of it, but I seem to have come to the wrong whorehouse. If you don’t put some effort into your work, I’ll be going home.’
‘Sorry, I have a lot on my mind.’
‘I’m the only person who should be on your mind right now. Just me, and nobody else.’
‘Yes, you’re right.’ He ripped her blouse open and squeezed her breasts. Buttons flew everywhere, bouncing off the walls and skittering across the laminate flooring like marbles.
‘I can’t believe you did that.’ She sat back on his thighs.
His erection withered and slipped out of her.
‘Each one of those buttons is an antique wild pearl and worth five hundred pounds. The blouse was a one-off and valued at ten thousand pounds – with the pearls attached, of course. Now, the woman in the charity shop would probably turn her nose up at it.’
‘I’ll buy you another one.’
‘Which part of “one-off” don’t you understand, DCI Thickeray?’
‘Let’s talk first and screw afterwards?’
‘It’s highly unusual.’
‘Humour me?’
She stood up, stripped her clothes off, let them drop to the floor and walked through into the bedroom.
He did the same and followed her.
She lay on the bed and lit a cigarette from the packet they kept in the drawer of the bedside table. ‘Go on then, what’s on your mind?’
‘Have you heard about Lupton?’
‘No.’
‘Committed suicide last night.’
‘I’m sorry to hear that. He was a valued member of the team. The board of directors will need to appoint a replacement soon, so that the important work of the IOPC continues.’