The Charnel House in Copperfield Street

by Tim Ellis

She shrugged into her dressing gown and followed Lucy to where she’d put the drawings up in the corridor.

  Lucy pointed at the basements. ‘Here and here.’

  Duffy examined both. ‘Bloody hell, Lucy.’

  ‘It wasn’t me, it was numbnuts, over there.’

  ‘Thanks, numbnuts,’ she said.

  ‘It’s Steve, by the way.’

  ‘Okay.’ She stared at Lucy. ‘The explanation to the haunting is in that room, isn’t it?’

  ‘Seems likely,’ Lucy said, pursing her lips. ‘And from what we know about Surgeon Superintendent Henry Gray, I’ll bet he did things to the women in that room who are pictured in his drawings.’

  ‘It makes sense. We have to knock down that wall.’

  Lucy’s lip curled up. ‘If Mrs Humblin agrees to that.’

  ‘How can she not agree? She wanted us to find out the truth, didn’t she? Well, the truth is probably behind that wall.’

  ‘Well, I have my own walls to knock down, so good luck with that,’ Lucy said and went back to her own room.

  ***

  He’d briefed the Chief and recounted what had happened . . . Well, nearly everything, because he left out the bits concerning Lucy, Jack, Duffy and most of what had occurred to Ruth. In fact, there wasn’t much he could tell the Chief and remain in the police force without being arrested. He couldn’t tell him about Lucy and Jack abducting, torturing and killing police officers. Of course, he personally believed that it was in self-defence, but there was no evidence to support that argument, and they were, after all, in the business of evidence.

  He obviously told him about DC Rummage going missing with Duffy’s Toyota Aygo . . .

  ‘I can’t believe you came to work in that, Quigg.’

  ‘It was a mistake of epic proportions that won’t happen again, Chief.’

  ‘What possessed you?’

  ‘In the absence of my Mercedes I needed a car – that was the only one available.’

  ‘The car pool have proper cars, you know?’

  ‘I’ll remember that the next time.’

  ‘Where was your Mercedes anyway?’

  ‘In for a service.’

  ‘Bad timing.’

  ‘In more ways than one.’

  ‘So, you got to this hall to find naked people dancing around a naked Rummage who was bound to the floor in the middle of a pentagram?’

  ‘That’s about the size of it.’

  ‘The nick of time, I’d say.’

  ‘My very words, Chief. A few more minutes and she’d have been raped, sodomised and decapitated.’

  ‘And it was all about sex?’

  ‘Taking sex to the very limits of the known universe.’

  The Chief chuckled. ‘The final frontier, or an orgasm to die for?’

  ‘Very erudite, Chief.’

  ‘I was surprised at how Justine Chevalier from the Chiswick Camera was able to be there at exactly the right time to produce an exclusive, Quigg.’

  ‘Not as surprised as I was.’

  ‘I can imagine Rummage is slightly embarrassed by those naked pictures on the front page, and also pages three, five, seven and the middle page spread?’

  ‘You’ve seen them?’

  ‘In passing only.’

  ‘Well, at least they’ve had the decency to place those small blurry bits over the parts that matter.’

  ‘Even so, there’s not much left to the imagination. I’ve heard that Rummage has already become a bit of a pin-up with the lads in the station.’

  ‘One of the dangers of the job, Chief. We could all find ourselves in compromising situations from time to time. I seem to recall being a naked sacrifice a few times myself.’

  ‘Yes, I suppose you’re right. Anyway, that’s another case solved.

  ‘It was touch and go for a while, Sir.’

  ‘I’m pleased DS Hawking found your son and daughter. It’s hard to believe that the ghost of Constable Paul Pratchett would come back to haunt you after all this time, and that his brother would use the Apostles to hide behind.’

  ‘I know, but at least Hawking found them in time.’

  ‘Let’s hope that’s an end to it.’

  ‘Let’s hope so, Sir.’

  ‘And Hawking is tying up the loose ends today before she goes back to Barrow-in-Furness?’

  ‘I’ll drive her to the station myself tomorrow, Sir.’

  ‘The least you can do. Show her some good old Hammersmith hospitality.’

  ‘I’ll do my best, Chief.’

  ‘You’ve completed your report on Anthony Underhill’s suicide in custody?’

  ‘Yes. Sergeant Sage and myself found him like that. We tried to revive him, but it was apparent that it was much too late. I couldn’t complete the report at the time, because I was desperate to reach Rummage and save her from the aforementioned rape, sodomy and decapitation.’

  ‘Of course. Losing another partner in such a grisly manner would not have looked good on the curriculum vitae.’

  ‘That was always in the back of my mind, Chief.’

  ‘Anything else, Quigg?’

  ‘I don’t think so.’

  ‘I look forward to reading the full report. In the meantime, stay out of trouble.’

  ‘Trouble is not something I’m familiar with.’

  ‘Are you still here?’

  ‘Already half-way towards the press briefing room, Chief.’

  He made his way out of the Chief’s office, walked past Miss Tinkley’s desk and flashed her the slip of paper he still had gripped in his hand to prove that he still had it.

  In the toilet, before he relieved himself, he opened up the slip of paper Miss Tinkley had passed to him. He could hardly contain himself. It read:

  Five o’clock

  On the roof behind the water tower

  It’s now or never

  CT

  He stuffed the paper into his mouth, chewed it until it was mâché and swallowed it. Five o’clock! That was all day to wait, but he had nothing on at five o’clock. Five o’clock was a good time, a very good time indeed. It would be the time, as the Chief had said, to cross the final frontier – to boldly go where no man has gone before. To have an orgasm to die for. Metaphorically speaking, of course. He could imagine that the roof behind the water tower would be a bit cold at this time of year, but at least they’d be doing an activity that would generate heat.

  After the press briefing he made his way back up the stairs to the squad room. Rummage was busy interviewing the members of The Children sex cult in the custody suite, getting signed confessions, charging them and generally crossing the i’s and dotting the t’s of the case. The Chief was right, another case solved. It was only by the skin of his teeth, happenstance, fate. The gods had been kind to him, because it could have all ended badly. Well, he was sure that Rummage would learn from her mistake.

  Hawking was tying up her case in the custody suite as well. Peter Pratchett and his girlfriend were being fed into the system. It was unlikely he’d hear from either of them again anytime soon. All in all, everything had turned out okay.

  He made himself a coffee in the kitchen, took it back to his office and went through his in-tray, out-tray, pending-tray, emails, internal memos . . . Keeping up-to-date with all the official paperwork, grey-work and unofficial-work was a full-time job in itself.

  At lunchtime, he had a snack in the canteen and then dozed off in his office to keep up his strength in preparation for conquering the final frontier. At one o’clock he made his way to the car park and set off to Harley Street.

  ***

  ‘You and me?’ Dennis said.

  Her loaded fork stopped mid-way to her mouth. ‘Is there something wrong with that?’

  They were sitting in the CafeRest on Goldhawk Road. She’d arrived first and ordered egg, bacon, chips, beans, five slices of buttered bread and was half-way though the meal by the time Dennis arrived. He said he wasn’t hungry, so he just ordered a mug of tea.


  ‘Not with you, with me.’

  ‘In what way?’

  ‘I don’t really fit into a place like the Gherkin.’

  ‘It’s a building.’

  ‘A posh one.’

  ‘Don’t worry, we’ll go in as electricians with a work order. They’re generally ignored. You lead, I’ll follow. Get some coveralls, electrical-looking tools, a baseball cap and Bob’s your uncle. It’ll all work out, trust me.’

  ‘If you say so?’

  ‘What’s the worst that can happen?’

  ‘We get arrested, transported to Devil’s Island on the next available transport ship and are put to work clearing alligators from the swamps.’

  ‘Ruth speaks highly of you, but she never said you were a drama queen.’

  ‘Oh yes! Especially when it comes to breaking the law and getting killed. I’m up there with the very best drama queens.’

  ‘They won’t even notice us. We’ll stroll in there, fix the electrical problem in the Chives dining room by installing a livestream . . . Well, that’s why you’re here, isn’t it? Surprisingly, I know next to nothing about livestreaming. I say surprisingly, because usually I know everything about everything. So, what do we need?’

  ‘My recommendation is four Logitech C910 High Definition Webcams with Carl Zeiss optics and full 1080p recording. I already have an account with UPSTREAM, which supports Adobe Flash Media Live Encoder. UPSTREAM also provides a downloadable XML configuration file. Ruth and I will be somewhere nearby to make sure we’re getting what we want . . . Yeah! As long as we can install everything without getting arrested, it should work just fine.’

  ‘Okay. So you go and buy all the kit we need.’

  ‘Me? Nobody said I had to spend my own money.’

  ‘You’re on a mission. Don’t you have mission funds? I’m not doing this for me. It’s for you and Ruth. She’s got money. Get a grip, will you.’

  ‘I suppose I could . . .’

  ‘I suppose you’d better. And don’t forget the coveralls, utility belts, boots and extendable ladders. I’m a size five, by the way. I’ll sort the work order and the electrical drawings out. Any problems?’

  ‘I don’t suppose . . .’

  ‘Good. Pick me up here at eight-thirty in the morning and we’ll go and do it.’

  ‘Eight thirty is a bit early.’

  ‘Ruth also never said that you could whinge for England.’

  ‘She obviously focused on my finer points.’

  ‘Obviously.’ Lucy stood up. ‘Right, any other problems?’

  ‘Eight-thirty, into the Gherkin, install the cameras, livestream the meeting. No, no other problems.’

  ‘Good. Pay the bill, will you?’ She waved at Harris behind the counter and headed for the door.

  She caught a Hammersmith & City Line train to King’s Cross St Pancras, and changed to the Victoria Line to Pimlico. Outside the station, she jumped into a taxi to New Mill Road and walked the short distance to the Hoboken Machinery warehouse.

  She knocked on the metal roller door.

  Her father opened it.

  ‘So, how’s things?’ she asked.

  ‘Okay. Did you bring any food?’

  ‘No. But feel free to get some yourself. Good job getting Ruth back, by the way.’

  ‘Thanks.’

  ‘She’s a bit battered though, I wasn’t impressed with that.’

  ‘No. Unfortunately, I had no control over events before my arrival.’

  After setting up the camcorder on the tripod again, she stared at the naked police Commander Andrew Wyatt. ‘Are you ready?’

  He stared back at her.

  ‘Don’t worry, I’ll let you know how the confession goes. I’ve done a few of these now. I’m getting to be quite the expert.’

  She emptied the rest of her rucksack out onto the table, picked up the stun gun and said, ‘Know what one of these is?’

  Wyatt nodded.

  ‘Will I have to use it?’

  He shook his head.

  ‘I’m not convinced. Maybe your testicles need to understand what 4.5 million volts feels like?’

  He shook his head more vigorously.

  ‘Okay, I’ll give you the benefit of the doubt for the time being. I’m nothing, if not fair.’ She glanced at her father. ‘I’m fair, aren’t I?’

  ‘The very modern model of fairness.’

  She turned back to Wyatt. ‘There you are then, straight from the horse’s mouth.’

  ‘So, for obvious reasons, I don’t appear on the recording. It’s your confession, not mine. My conscience is clear. Don’t look at me. Speak into the camera. Tell the viewers a bit about yourself first – who you are, where you work, how you became a criminal . . . that type of thing. Then, I want to know names, dates, crimes, bank account details . . . the whole works. Any questions?’

  He shook his head.

  ‘Good.’ She ripped off the duct tape from his face. ‘Let me know when you’d like to begin.’

  ‘Could I have a drink of water, please?’

  ‘Where’s my manners?’ She held an open water bottle to his lips.

  He took a drink. ‘Thank you.’

  ‘When you’re ready.’

  ‘My name is Commander Andrew Wyatt . . .’

  Once he’d finished confessing, she uploaded the file to her YouTube channel and emailed Ruth with the details.

  ‘Okay,’ she said to Jack as she packed everything back into her rucksack. ‘I’ll leave you to deal with him. If I need you to do anything else, I’ll call you.’

  ‘It was good to see you again.’

  ‘I’m sure it was.’

  She opened the roller shutter, put the Gorgon’s helmet on, sat astride the black and green Kawasaki Z650 and pressed the ignition switch. It purred into life. If she was being honest, this was what she’d really come for. She moved it forward off the stand, put it into gear and shot forward.

  The throbbing between her legs turned her on. Maybe she’d let Quigg have sex with her while she was riding it naked at a hundred and twenty miles an hour.

  That would be something.

  A quickie!

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Duffy took a shower and then got dressed. It was nearly lunchtime. She thought about phoning Mrs Humblin to discuss knocking down the basement wall, but she had the feeling the request would be better made face-to-face. Especially as she had architectural evidence with the blueprints to show her. Also, there were the copies she’d printed off of the journals, which showed the evil sketches that Surgeon Superintendent Henry Gray had made. The journals didn’t say anything about why he’d drawn them, however. And something she hadn’t considered before was that there might not be a sinister reason behind the drawings. Maybe he’d drawn them simply because that was what he liked to draw – nothing more, nothing less. If that was the case, then it didn’t explain all the other things happening in the house; the drawings that Regina Humblin did when she blacked out; or Briar’s imaginary friend called Henry. The answer was in that basement – she was sure. She just had to convince Regina to get builders in to demolish the wall.

  As promised, eBay had delivered her abalone shell in a cardboard box, which she popped into her bag on the way out.

  She had to make a slight detour to the Shu Jun Clinic on Fulham Palace Road to buy two of the eight-inch white sage smudge sticks for nine pounds ninety-nine each, so she was glad that Quigg had brought her Toyota Aygo back. It didn’t smell or feel like her car anymore though. She’d have to clean it at the weekend, spruce it up a bit and make it hers again.

  With the detours and the traffic, it took her an hour and a half to reach Copperfield Street where she parked up outside number 66.

  For some strange reason, a feeling of dread came over her as she walked down the path to the front door.

  Before she could knock, the door opened.

  Mister Stanley Humblin was standing there with Baxter in his arms and the other two children – Nellie and Briar e
ither side of him.

  ‘Hello, Mister . . .’ Duffy began.

  He stepped out of the house and barged past her. ‘I have to get the children out of that house.’

  ‘Has something happened?’

  ‘Upstairs. God! I thought it was all in Regina’s head, but not now . . . not now.’

  ‘What is it?’

  ‘I have no idea. Regina doesn’t sound like my wife anymore. She won’t let me in her studio. I can hear her, but I haven’t seen her this morning. Her voice has changed and she’s calling me disgusting names and making terrible suggestions. I can’t subject the children to that. I’m taking them to my mother’s house and then maybe I’ll come back. I hope you can do something.’

  ‘We think there might be something in the basement, Mister Humblin. We’ve checked your architect’s drawing with the original from 1850, and we think there’s a difference of twelve feet between the two beneath the dining room. Can I have your permission to knock a hole through the end wall to see if there really is a missing twelve feet?’

  ‘Do whatever you like, just bring my wife back. I don’t know what happened yesterday, but she hasn’t been the same since you left.’

  Duffy wondered whether Professor Neuville’s hypnosis had anything to do with the change in Regina.

  ‘You take care of your children, Mister Humblin. I’ll do what I can.’

  He hurried down the path with the children.

  She stepped over the threshold, shut the door and went inside. The first thing she needed to do was call a builder, so she connected to the internet and carried out a search for one in Southwark. She found a local builder called Bill Marshall Construction and called the number.

  ‘Bill Marshall Construction.’

  ‘Need a builder fairly urgently.’

  ‘Your house is falling down?’

  ‘No, I want a hole knocking through a basement wall.’

  ‘And that’s urgent how?’

  ‘Can you do it, or not?’

  ‘No job too large or too small.’

  ‘Is that a yes?’

  ‘Now?’

  ‘Yes.’