The Charnel House in Copperfield Street

by Tim Ellis

  ‘What do you want us to do after we’ve sent the trailers to the news channels?’ Dennis asked.

  ‘Stay hidden. If the police do arrest me, then you will be on the outside to negotiate our fees with the news channels. Also, Lucy has more YouTube confessions to upload, which will need editing. I have not got all the answers, but it is important that they do not silence us.’

  ‘Understood.’

  Nate pulled up outside the church.

  She hugged them both, climbed out of the van and watched them drive off.

  How quickly her life had changed, she thought. Last week she was leading a normal life, or at least she wasn’t about to be killed or arrested. Over the last twenty-four hours, there was the possibility of both.

  The guard from Halycon Security nodded at her.

  Once she was inside she phoned Lisa Giles.

  ‘I haven’t heard from you for a long time, Ruth.’

  ‘I have had a baby.’

  ‘Congratulations.’

  ‘Thank you.’

  ‘So, why are you calling me? Does the baby need legal representation?’

  ‘No, but his mother does. I think the police are going to come here and arrest me.’

  Lisa laughed. ‘I always said that you couldn’t keep a good reporter down. What have you been up to now?’

  ‘I’m looking into police corruption . . .’ She told Lisa what had happened since she’d met the whistle-blower – John Lupton – at the Victoria and Albert Museum.

  ‘You always find the biggest hornets’ nest to poke, don’t you? All right, I’m on my way.’

  ‘Thank you.’

  She ended the call and walked through the house. Amanda was still here looking after the children, but Janet had gone home. Two guards were outside and one was sitting in the hallway.

  ‘I’m expecting the police to arrive soon,’ she said to the guard.

  ‘Oh?’

  ‘I am an investigative reporter looking into police corruption. They do not like what I have uncovered and are trying to silence me, but the truth will come out.’

  ‘Yeah, the police are like that. What do you want from me, Mrs Quigg?’

  ‘No . . . I am not Mrs Quigg.’

  ‘Oh sorry! Which one is?’

  ‘No one. There was a Mrs Quigg once, but she is . . . Anyway, it is a long story for another time. What I want now is for you to keep the police out for as long as you can, but don’t let them break the door down, or injure you. They will arrest me no matter what.’

  ‘Understood.’

  ‘You will be a witness to what they do here.’

  ‘I can be a witness.’

  ‘Good.’

  ‘Will you let the others know?’

  ‘Sure.’

  Next, she went and told Amanda what was probably about to happen and to stay in the nursery with the children.

  Lisa Giles arrived.

  ‘The police followed me along the road,’ she said, as she came through the door.

  ‘I am ready.’

  ‘When they take me away, can you call Quigg and tell him where they are taking me?’

  ‘Of course.’

  She gave Lisa one of Quigg’s business cards with his mobile number on it.

  ‘I will follow you to the station. And remember, say nothing unless I am in the room with you?’

  ‘My lips are sealed.’

  There was a banging on the front door.

  ‘Hello!’ the guard said.

  ‘Open up – police.’

  ‘Police?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Can you show me some form of identity, please?’

  ‘Just open the door.’

  ‘I’m sure the law allows me to ask to see your Warrant Card, doesn’t it?’

  ‘If you don’t open the door, we’ll smash it down.’

  ‘Do you have the right to do that?’

  ‘You were warned.’

  Steve opened the door a crack, but wedged his foot behind it. ‘Can you tell me what this is about?’

  ‘Let us in.’

  ‘Do you have a Search Warrant?’

  ‘Break it down,’ the police officer said.

  ‘So, no Warrant Card and no Search Warrant. Maybe I should call the police and tell them we have imposters here.’

  The police officer barged past him. ‘Get out of the way.’

  He was followed in by a dozen officers wearing riot gear.

  ‘You know what we’re looking for,’ the officer said. ‘Take everything and load it onto the van.’

  Lisa stepped forward. ‘I’m Miss Lynch-Guevara’s solicitor. I’d like to see your Warrant Card and Search Warrant, please.’

  ‘I’m sure you would, but that isn’t going to happen. We have probable cause based on an anonymous tip-off that terrorism offences are being committed here.’

  ‘Don’t be ridiculous,’ Ruth said. ‘There are four children in the nursery.’

  The officer grunted. ‘You’d be surprised how many times I’ve found terrorists hiding behind women and children.’

  They were shifted to one side as officers carried out laptops, tablets and all of Lucy’s computer equipment.

  ‘Not only that,’ Ruth said. ‘Detective Inspector Quigg from Hammersmith Police Station lives here.’

  ‘There’s a few disgruntled and corrupt police officers on the force, so I’ve been told.’

  ‘And you’re one of them, officer. What’s your name?’

  ‘We don’t give out names.’ He pointed to his collar number. ‘That’s all you’re getting.’

  ‘Here, Gov,’ one of the police officers shouted, coming out of Lucy’s room with a black rucksack and holding up a small brown package with wires protruding from it. ‘There’s half-a-dozen suicide vests and enough SEMTEX to blow up Wembley Stadium here.’

  Ruth’s eyes opened wide. ‘You brought that in here with you?’

  ‘We don’t do things like that, lady.’

  ‘It will not change anything. My first report on police corruption will be on the six o’clock news tonight.’

  ‘We’ll see. Ruth Lynch, I’m arresting you on suspicion of the commission, preparation or instigation of a terrorist act contrary to Section 41 of the Terrorism Acts of 2000 and 2006. You do not have to say anything. But it may harm your defence if you do not mention when questioned something which you later rely on in court. Anything you do say may be given in evidence.’ He spun her round, put restraints around her wrists and signalled for another police officer to take her out.

  ‘Where are you taking her?’ Lisa Giles said.

  ‘Notting Hill Police Station.’ He turned on his heel. ‘Okay men, we’re done here. Back to the station.’

  Lisa Giles followed him out of the front door and climbed into her silver BMW, but the engine wouldn’t start. She released the catch, got out and stuck her head under the bonnet to find some of the wires had been yanked out of where they were meant to be. ‘Shit!’

  She phoned her office: Hatchett, Giles & Prather.

  ‘Good afternoon . . .’

  ‘Jackie?’

  ‘Is that you, Mrs Giles?’

  ‘Yes. Can you put me through to Harry, please?’

  ‘Of course.’

  She heard a click.

  ‘Yes, Lisa?’

  ‘I’m here at Ruth Lynch-Guevara’s house. They’ve arrested her for terrorism offences, because she’s investigating police corruption. I planned to follow them to the police station, but the bastards have disabled my car. Can you get over to Notting Hill Police Station and represent her interests until I can get there?’

  ‘On my way.’

  ‘Thanks, Harry.’

  The call ended.

  She phoned the recovery service to come and put all her wires back where they were meant to go and handed the keys to the guard. Next, she phoned a local taxi company to come and take her to Notting Hill Police Station, and then she phoned DI Quigg.

  ***

 
Jack Neilson had a feeling.

  And it wasn’t a nice feeling either. It was the type of feeling he’d had a couple of times before, a feeling that had invariably saved his life.

  He glanced sideways at Delilah Garrett sitting next to him. She seemed comfortable, relaxed. Why? Why had they left her behind? She was part of it all wasn’t she? And Lucy had said in her text: “She’s one of them.” Why would she say that when she knew that he already knew she was one of them? She’d said it in the context of: “There are other people involved.” Other people! What did that mean? Which other people?

  ‘Where are we going?’

  ‘You’ll know when we get there.’

  He’d lowered his guard. She’d disarmed him with her smile, her body. He was a bloody fool. It wasn’t the first time, but it could easily be the last.

  He turned left down a residential street and stopped the van.

  ‘Are we here?’

  ‘No.’ He got out, walked round the front to her side and opened the passenger door. ‘Get out.’

  ‘What for?’

  ‘Because I said so.’

  She swung her legs round.

  He helped her out. At the same time he began doing a body search, but stopped at her waist.

  ‘Oh, that’s what you want. It’s a bit public here, isn’t it?’

  ‘Let’s go in the back.’ He led her to the back doors, opened the right-hand door and shoved her inside. ‘Take your clothes off.’

  ‘You can’t wait until we get there?’

  She stripped off.

  He watched, climbed inside and said, ‘Lie down.’

  ‘Don’t you have a blanket or something? The floor is dirty and cold.’

  ‘Whatever happened to spontaneity?’ He pushed her down, and put restraints on her wrists and ankles.

  ‘What are you doing?’

  ‘I think that’s fairly obvious. You’re one of them. I don’t trust you.’ He stuck duct tape over her mouth. ‘I feel much better now.’

  He climbed out, shut the door, walked back round to the front and climbed back in.

  As he turned the van round and re-joined the traffic on the King’s Road, he realised – not for the first time – that he was getting sloppy, and sloppy would get him killed.

  After a while he crossed the Thames over Putney Bridge and turned left onto Putney Bridge Road until he reached Northfields, where he turned left and followed the road round to the derelict Taylor distillery at the far end of Wandsworth Pier. He keyed the number into the access pad, the gate slid back on its rollers and he drove inside the security fence.

  Once the gate had closed shut, he removed Delilah Garrett from the back of the van, cut her ankle restraints and marched her into the building.

  Lucy was waiting for him.

  ‘I thought you said you were bringing two more guests?’

  ‘Thackeray escaped,’ he said, as he secured Delilah to a chair and hooked a rope around her neck.

  Lucy stared at him for further explanation.

  ‘According to Delilah, two men broke into the apartment and took him away.’

  ‘Delilah! You have a first-name relationship?’

  ‘We don’t have any type of relationship.’

  ‘You shagged her, didn’t you?’

  ‘Tell me about these “other people” you mentioned?’

  She pointed to the side of the van. ‘One DCI in charge didn’t make sense to me. In the scheme of things, a DCI is way down the pecking order. So I began connecting the dots and found eight people above him . . .’ She glanced at Delilah. ‘She’s one of those eight. She’s not just a connection at the IOPC, she’s a full director of the criminal enterprise.’

  ‘Really?’

  ‘And you were taken in by her in more ways than one.’

  ‘What about these?’ he said, indicating the other captives.

  ‘I’ve finished with the confessions and uploaded them, so they’re surplus to requirements. Now it’s time for your fuck-buddy to spill her guts.’

  ‘What happened to the assassin?’

  ‘The bitch was never going to talk, so I left her at the factory.’

  ‘Alive?’

  ‘What do you think?’

  ‘I’ll need to go back and dispose of the bodies.’

  ‘Good idea. The Mercedes is still parked up there, and I’m going to confiscate Medusa’s motorbike. Also, while you were shagging bony over there, did you think to check her for a GPS chip?’

  ‘There’s no scar on her wrists.’

  ‘What about the rest of her?’

  ‘I got distracted.’

  ‘I’m beginning to think I should have called the Marx Brothers instead of you.’ She began looking for the tell-tale scar and found it on the inside of the woman’s left ankle. Grabbing the knife off the table, she jabbed the point into the flesh, prised the chip out and crushed it underfoot.

  Then, they both heard the gate opening.

  ‘Fuck!’ Lucy said. ‘You led them here.’

  ‘So it would seem. Grab what you need to take with you, we’ll be leaving shortly.’

  She began stuffing her rucksack with her laptop, camcorder, all of the victims possessions, a few handguns, silencers and ammunition; and took a final photograph of the side of the van.

  Jack picked up a Glock with a silencer off the table and shot all of the captives in the head, including Delilah Garrett. Next, he found an old rag in the cab of the Transit van, unscrewed the petrol cap, pushed the rag as far down the tube as it would go and lit the end. ‘Ready?’

  ‘To go where?’

  He hurried to the middle of the three vats, pressed a lever at the side and the vat lifted up slightly on a hinge.

  ‘Neat,’ Lucy said.

  ‘You never know when you might need an escape route.’ He lifted the vat up on the hinge to reveal a tunnel and a metal ladder fixed to the brick wall. ‘After you.’

  She climbed inside and began to descend into darkness.

  He followed her and pulled the vat closed behind him.

  ‘I have a torch,’ she said.

  He could hear her rummaging about in her rucksack.

  ‘Yes, here it is.’

  Then a light came on.

  ‘Hurry,’ he said, leading the way along the tunnel.

  They heard a series of explosions rip through the distillery above.

  Lucy said, ‘Maybe I was being a bit harsh when I suggested the Marx Brothers might have been better than you.’

  ‘No, you were right. I knew there was something wrong with Delilah Garrett and why they’d left her in the apartment, but I didn’t listen to myself.’

  ‘One shag and you thought you loved her?’

  ‘I wouldn’t go that far, but it certainly clouded my judgement.’

  They reached the end of the tunnel, which emptied out into the Thames and sat down on the edge.

  The setting sun cast an eerie glow over the river. There were still dark heavy clouds in the sky, and the November wind was freezing, but he was glad for the brief respite.

  ***

  At White City underground station he took a Central Line train to Bond Street, where he changed to the Jubilee Line to Southwark. The journey took him forty minutes.

  Outside the station, he decided to walk to Copperfield Street, but then he spotted Duffy up ahead, so he put a spurt on to catch her up.

  ‘Wait up, Duffy,’ he said as he approached, and then bent over with his hands on his thighs breathing like a steam train.

  She turned. ‘You need to get down to the gym, Sir. It’ll do you good to improve your fitness before you have the vasectomy.’

  He pulled a face. ‘I’m not having a vasectomy, Duffy. You and Ruth can deny me my conjugal rights all you want, but I’ll never submit to the knife.’

  ‘No knife, no sex.’

  ‘Okay. But it’s my considered opinion that you’re cutting off your nose to spite your face, which I much prefer to the alternative.’

&n
bsp; ‘Have it your way.’

  ‘I plan to.’

  ‘Smudging,’ Duffy said. ‘That’s the answer.’

  Quigg’s brow wrinkled up. ‘Instead of a vasectomy, you mean?’

  Duffy smiled. ‘No. I have a list of things to do in the house. First, we should ask the ghost politely to leave. Apparently, ghosts are sensitive souls.’

  ‘And if he doesn’t?’

  ‘We then need to smudge.’

  ‘Which is?’

  ‘Walking around with a lit bundle of white sage, catching the bits in an abalone shell . . .’

  ‘A what?’

  ‘They’re the shell of a sea snail. They’re also called sea ears . . .’

  ‘Because they look like ears?’

  ‘Exactly. Inside they’re lined with mother-of-pearl.’

  ‘Ah! I know the ones you mean.’

  ‘Good. I’ve ordered one from eBay. It’ll be delivered to the house tomorrow morning.’

  ‘Okay. What about the white sage?’

  ‘I’ll get some of that tomorrow, as well.’

  ‘From where?’

  ‘The Shu Jun Clinic on Fulham Palace Road. They sell eight-inch white sage smudge sticks for nine pounds ninety-nine. I’ll get two sticks – just in case.’

  ‘In case of what?’

  ‘The first one doesn’t work.’

  ‘Okay. Well, I’m impressed, Duffy. You seem to have taken to this paranormal malarkey like a duck to water.’

  ‘As they say in the paranormal world: I’ve hit the ground running.’

  ‘You certainly have.’

  Upon arrival, Regina Humblin let them into the house.

  Professor Alice Neuville was sitting in the living room with a cup of tea.

  Nellie, Briar and Baxter were playing quietly on the floor. Nellie was reading a book, Briar was colouring, and Baxter was chewing a succession of plastic toys.

  ‘Tea?’ Regina asked.

  ‘Yes, please,’ Quigg said. Had he and Rummage stopped for lunch? He didn’t think so. What happened to lunch? He’d have to have some strong words with her. Lunch was definitely an important meal in the day. Now, he was hungry and thirsty.