by Tim Ellis
‘You’ve really done it this time, Ruth,’ he said, shaking his head like a doomsayer.
‘Do not blame me. Those corrupt police officers are to blame.’
His phone vibrated. Who the hell was calling him at this time of night?
‘Quigg.’
‘It’s DS Hawking, Sir.’
‘Yes?’
‘I’ve found your son, Joe.’
‘Really?’
‘Yes.’
‘That’s fabulous news. And was it Peter Pratchett?’
‘Yes, but he didn’t do it alone.’
‘Oh?’
‘He coerced his girlfriend – Tanya Yates – to help him, because we also found your daughter Phoebe at the house as well.’
‘Oh God! I never thought I’d see her again. You’ve earned your pay today.’
‘I haven’t conducted any formal interviews yet, but from what his girlfriend has told us, he’s been plotting his revenge for months. Apparently, it was the only thing that kept him sane inside. Now that he’s out of prison, he planned to sell both children to an Albanian trafficking ring and had already made contact with them.’
‘You found them in the nick of time then?’
‘I’d say we did.’
‘Where are the children now?’
‘Social workers have placed them in temporary fostering care until they can be assessed and interviewed.’
‘You could have brought them here. They are my children, after all.’
‘They’re both witnesses, Inspector. Any contact with you would make their evidence useless.’
‘I suppose you’re right.’
‘You’ll get to see them soon enough.’
‘Are you going back to Barrow-in-Furness tomorrow?’
‘Thursday. I need to interview Pratchett and his girlfriend first, formally charge them and then complete all the paperwork.’
‘Don’t forget about tidying up that mess you’ve made in the squad room.’
‘I’ll let you do that, Sir.’
The line went dead.
‘How did things go at Copperfield Street, Duffy?’
‘Briar said that Henry had told her she wasn’t allowed to say anything about him. I tried coaxing her with sweets, ice cream, a new Barbie doll . . . She wouldn’t give in. I then walked around the house asking the ghost politely to leave, but only time will tell if it worked.’
‘What about the professor?’
‘She came down from hypnotising Regina with a troubled face. Se saw that you’d left and then said she was leaving as well. I thought she would have called you?’
‘No, she hasn’t called. I’ll speak to her tomorrow and find out what’s troubling her.’
‘Okay. Well, I’ll be going back there tomorrow, because I didn’t get a chance to show Regina what I’d found out about Surgeon Superintendent Henry Gray, or the drawings in his journals.’
‘What drawings?’
She showed him.
He pulled a face. ‘They’re similar to those that Regina draws when she blacks out.’
‘Yes. And I think Briar’s “Henry” is Henry Gray, and when Regina draws those dark drawings, Henry Gray is really drawing them.’
‘Maybe the professor can shed some light on that?’
‘Maybe.’
‘It still doesn’t explain what it’s all about, does it?’
‘No. Maybe we’ll get some answers tomorrow.’
‘Maybe.’ He felt really tired. He yawned and stretched his arms upwards. ‘You know what I’d like, ladies?’
‘Have you had a vasectomy?’ they responded in unison.
‘No, no. Not sex. I’d like for us all to sleep together in one bed tonight. No sex, just a group hug after what’s really been an awful day.’
‘No sex?’ Ruth said.
‘Absolutely not. Hugging only.’
‘Don’t think you can get us all in bed and then start wriggling your snake into our pyjamas.’
‘Sex is the furthest thing from my mind, believe me.’
‘One night only,’ Duffy said.
‘Absolutely.’
Chapter Twenty-Three
Wednesday, November 8
‘Morning ‘Spector Quigg,’ Mandy said. ‘How’re you?’
She was wearing a tight red leather top with a plunging neckline, which made him think about the mathematical properties of gravity in relation to women’s breasts. Her midriff was on show, as were the dangling gold piercings in her navel. The shredded denim skirt she had on was more holes than material, and it showed off the red leather suspender belts that held up her dark-blue stockings.
‘Not too good this morning, Mandy.’
It was true – he felt slightly upbeat, but despondent at the same time. Even though Ruth was a bit the worse for wear she was alive and back home; even though DS Hawking had found Joe and Phoebe and rescued them from the clutches of a deranged Peter Pratchett; even though he’d solved his double murder case and arrested the culprits; even though DC Rummage’s life and virginity had been saved from the crazy sex cult The Children; and even though he’d had sex with Ruth, Duffy and Lucy last night; there was still some outstanding matters that he had yet to deal with. A vasectomy was still not off the operating table; Duffy seemed to be embracing her new role as a paranormal investigator, but she hadn’t solved the mystery of 66 Copperfield Street yet; Ruth’s investigation had caused a major controversy not just in the Metropolitan Police Service, but in the government as well. And on top of more revelations, it was expected that the Police Commissioner might resign. If he did, what would happen to Quigg? The PC seemed to be keeping a close watch on his career. Then, there was Miss Tinkley – had his boats really been burned? Also, his mother was still there in the back of his mind. He hadn’t heard from her for some time now. Was she all right? Was she enjoying her life in Bago, Burma with Maggie Crenshaw? Had she had the baby yet? Did he have a brother or sister? Would the archaeologists ever finish the Roman Temple of Mithras dig beneath his mother’s house? Would he ever be able to sell it?
‘I’m sorry to hear that, ‘Spector.’ She came round the desk and sat on his knee. ‘When my Wayne’s not feeling good, he likes me to do this.’ She rubbed her crotch on his crotch and pushed his face into her cleavage. ‘Yes, I think it’s working already, ‘Spector.’
It certainly was. He had an erection like one of the two Pillars of Hercules.
‘There we is,’ she said, sliding her hand between his legs, unzipping him and using sleight of hand like a self-taught magician to whip his penis out and push him inside her. ‘You’ll be feeling much better in no time.’ She rode him sideways as if she was out cantering on her horse.
When he tried to complain, she eased out a breast and stuffed a nipple into his mouth.
He sucked for all he was worth and then ejaculated as if he’d been storing it up for a rainy day.
She slid off him, wiped him down with a tissue that she’d had hidden in her top, pushed his floppy penis back, zipped him up and said, ‘That should make the day go a bit better, ‘Spector Quigg.’
‘You should have joined one of the caring professions, Mandy.’
‘My mum always said I have healing hands and should’a been a nurse.’
‘I think she’s right. Your talents are wasted as a clerical assistant.’
‘Thanks for saying so, ‘Spector.’
‘I hope you’re protected, Mandy?’
‘Don’t you worry none, I had a contradictive infection nine months ago.’
‘Nine months! I’m sure those contraceptive injections only last for six months.’
‘You’re joshing me?’
‘I am not.’
She laughed. Nah! I had one last week.’ She pointed to a tiny injection site on her left upper arm. ‘The doctor said he’d got it cheap off t’internet and it’d come all the way from Peru like Paddington Bear. Would you believe it?’
‘No, I don’t think I would. Do I have any mail?’
>
‘Nobody loves you this morning.’
‘Ain’t that the truth?’
She stroked his cheek. ‘I got a soft spot for you though. Anyways, I know how you like to keep abreast of the ‘Spectors’ Board, so I thought I’d just come in to tell you that your name isn’t on there anymore.’
His eyes opened as wide as sinkholes. ‘Not on there?’ God forbid! There were only twenty-two inspectors in the whole station, and the board contained twenty of them. What did he have to do to climb that damned board?
‘Nope! Dropped right off the bottom. You’re just a jumble of letters in the letter tray is all I can see, so I just thought I’d come in and brighten up your day because of that. I always say to people that my job is a lot more’n about delivering the post, ya know.’
‘Well, thanks for popping in, Mandy.’
‘I’m out the door, Dinosaur.’
‘’Till then, Penguin.’
That was a bittersweet visit, he thought. Mandy had finally got her way with him, but he couldn’t believe he wasn’t on the Inspectors’ Board anymore. It was hardly surprising though. He’d been climbing up it, but then there was the disaster with Miss Tinkley and the Toyota Aygo, for which Lucy had a lot to answer for. What about Ada Sage? Surely, keeping her satisfied, was worth a few extra points?
His phone vibrated.
‘Quigg.’
‘It is the renowned psychiatrist Professor Alice Neuville, Inspector Quigg.’
‘What can I do for you, Professor?’
‘We must talk.’
‘Okay.’
‘I have a cancellation at two o’clock this afternoon at my private clinic in Harley Street. You must come here to see me.’
As far as he knew, he didn’t have anything planned for this afternoon. ‘Two o’clock will be fine, Professor.’
‘I will see you then.’
The line went dead.
He wondered what was so urgent. Obviously something to do with the hypnosis of Regina Humblin. Oh well, he guess he’d find out at two o’clock.
‘QUIGG!’
‘Coming, Chief.’ He walked along the corridor to the Chief’s office.
Christie Tinkley was sitting at her desk looking like an angel in a black lace top that hinted at deep forbidden cleavage; a short red and black checked skirt with a black leather belt; nylon stockings and black stilettos.
He licked his lips. ‘Good morning, Miss Tinkley.’
‘Good morning, Inspector.’
‘I’m sorry about yesterday, I had to . . .’
‘I understand.’ She passed him another slip of paper. ‘Don’t lose that one.’
‘I surely won’t.’
‘It’s now or never.’
‘I understand.’ The Elvis Presley song began playing in his head. “It’s now or never . . .”
The Chief’s voice slithered through the crack of the open door. ‘Is that you out there, Quigg?’
‘The very person, Chief.’
‘I hope you’re not cavorting with my secretary who has more than enough work to be getting on with?’
‘I didn’t even notice your secretary was out here, Sir.’
‘Well! Why are you still loitering out there?’
‘I didn’t want to interrupt your important work.’ He sidled into the office.
The Chief looked up from his paperwork and sat back in his executive leather chair. ‘Quigg!’
‘Yes, Chief?’
‘Tell me why I put up with you?’
‘I’m a good detective?’
‘Debateable.’
‘I’m fun to have around?’
‘Hardly a priority in the scheme of things.’
‘The Police Commissioner thinks I can solve complex cases?’
‘I’m sure you’re not the only one, and this morning I’ve been wondering how long the PC will last in light of the proverbial your lady friend has landed him in.’
‘Mrs Belmarsh likes me?’
‘God only knows why! That’s probably the only reason I do put up with you. It’s not in my nature to disappoint, Mrs Belmarsh. Or, it may have something to do with self-preservation. Sit down, Quigg.’
He’d never been asked to sit down before. ‘What! Here in your office, Chief?’
‘I have the feeling you’ve got a lot of explaining to do, and I don’t want to get a crick in my neck.’
‘If you’re sure, Chief?’
‘Sit.’
He perched on the end of one of the three mahogany chairs in front of the Chief’s desk.
‘Start at the beginning, Quigg.’
He cleared his throat. ‘Well . . .’
***
‘Have you got nothing else better to do than stare at someone else’s blueprints, numbnuts?’ Lucy said as she made her way along the corridor to the kitchen.
Sex with Quigg last night had been vaguely satisfying, but she wasn’t used to sharing. She’d have to get him on his own later, when the others weren’t looking, and extract her fair share of sperm. She had a busy day ahead of her. On her way to the Hoboken Machinery warehouse to encourage Commander Andrew Wyatt to confess and also collect her new motorbike, she’d arranged to meet Dennis Ford at ten-thirty in the CafeRest on Goldhawk Road, which was just around the corner from the tube station. She planned to discuss what was needed to livestream the Board Meeting in the Chives dining room. He’d have a good idea of what they needed and where to buy it all.
‘I was looking at the two drawings.’
Lucy snorted. ‘Because you’re a closet architect?’
‘I could be.’
‘How many A Levels have you got?’
‘Just because a person doesn’t have any pieces of paper, it doesn’t mean they’re not intelligent.’
‘Is that right?’ Not that she had any. ‘Proof is in the pudding.’
‘School just came along at the wrong time for me.’
‘And now would be a good time to jump on the bus, would it?’
‘Pretty much.’
‘So why are you here dumbing down as a security guard?’
‘A guy’s gotta eat.’
‘Oh well, good luck with that.’
‘These blueprints are different, you know?’
‘That’s because one was drawn by the original architect . . .’ She pointed to the name in the bottom right-hand corner. ‘Sir Horace Jones – 1850.’ She nudged him along to the other architect’s drawing and pointed to the bottom right-hand corner again. ‘Moffatt & Tower, Architects – April 10, 2010.’
‘Yeah well, in-between times they lost some space in the basement.’ He pointed at the basement in each drawing. ‘See – here at the far end, underneath the dining room. The basement in 1850 went all the way to the outer wall, but here in this one it’s shaded over and about twelve feet short of that wall. Could be a retaining wall put there because of subsidence, but I don’t think so. It’s my guess that either the second architects made a mistake, or someone’s put a wall up to hide a room or something.’
She peered at both drawings. Numbnuts was right – a twelve-foot length of the basement had been swallowed up between 1850 and 2010. And if she was right, it was directly beneath the cold spot that Regina Humblin mentioned to Quigg.
‘If you had the chance of going to university as a mature student, what would you do, numbnuts?’
‘Well, first off, I’d change my name to Steve.’
‘Yeah, “Numbnuts” doesn’t do you any favours. Then what?’
‘Horticulture. I’ve got myself an allotment, and I grow a mean marrow.’
‘So, the only thing stopping you is money?’
‘Well, yeah. I mean, not only would I not be earning while I was doing a degree, but then you gotta pay the tuition fees. It’s like a double whammy. Not only that, I got a wife and two kids to support, so the chance of me taking a sabbatical from work to do a degree in Horticulture is about as likely as me walking on the moon.’
‘What if I sponsored
you, numbnuts?’
‘Let’s say I believed you, and let’s say you actually had two rusty washers to rub together, why would you do that?’
‘I know I look like a bitch from a council house estate, but I have lots of money, and you seem to be a good cause. Plus, you found the missing link with those two drawings, and when you’re qualified you can look after our garden for free.’
‘Do you really mean it?’
‘I don’t see why not.’
He hugged her and kissed her on the lips.
She spat and wiped her lips. ‘Well, I did mean it until you just smothered me in your disgusting slime.’
‘Sorry. I got a bit excited.’
‘Draw up a plan with costings and let me have it at your earliest convenience. If you’re quick, you could still apply for a January entry.’
‘I’ll have it for you by tomorrow, or Friday.’
‘Okay.’
She carried on to the kitchen. Why not? She made herself four pieces of toast with honey, went through the living room, into Duffy’s bedroom and opened the curtains.
‘Go away.’
‘I’ve brought you some toast with honey, but you’d better hurry because I’m scoffing them . . . Oops! Too late.’
‘What do you want?’
‘Numbnuts just found something which, if you’d been paying attention, you might have found yourself.’
‘Who’s “numbnuts”?’
‘The guard in the hallway.’
‘Okay. What did he find?’
‘A missing room in the basement of 66 Copperfield Street.’
Duffy sat up in bed. ‘Really?’
‘Yep.’
She slid out of bed and said, ‘Show me?’
Lucy stood up, smeared a dollop of honey on Duffy’s left nipple and licked it off. ‘Okay, but maybe you want to put some clothes on first, because numbnuts gets really excited at the sight of naked females.’
‘Oh, yeah!’