The Charnel House in Copperfield Street

by Tim Ellis

‘Where?’

  ‘Copperfield Street in Southwark – number 66.’

  ‘I know it. Half an hour?’

  ‘I’ll be waiting.’

  ‘I won’t be coming there personally, but the lad I send will have the tools necessary to knock a hole through a wall.’

  ‘If I find what I’m looking for on the other side of the wall, the whole wall will probably have to come down.’

  ‘Okay. Well, we’ll cross that wall when we come to it. Nick – that’s the lad I’m sending, Nick Wilson – he’ll call me if he needs any more tools or manpower.’

  ‘Thank you . . . Oh!’

  ‘Yes?’

  ‘How much will it cost?’

  ‘Let’s say we have to knock the whole wall down, get rid of the rubble and make good. It won’t be any more than six hundred pounds, so that should give you an idea. There’s no extenuating circumstances are there?’

  ‘No, it’s just a normal basement and a normal wall.’

  ‘Okay. Well, that’s a ballpark figure without having seen the work involved.’

  ‘I’ll see Nick in half an hour then?’

  The line went dead.

  Putting her handbag on the kitchen table, she removed one of the sage sticks and the abalone shell.

  She lit the end of the sage, so that it was smoking gently and went from room to room filling them lightly with smoke and saying in each room, ‘I cleanse this home and myself today, no negative energies can stay.’

  Once she’d smudged downstairs, she walked upstairs and continued to smudge every room, and then climbed to Regina’s studio.

  The smells of decaying flesh, decomposing waste and faeces invaded her nostrils. As she climbed the stairs, they became more powerful. The walls, steps, ceiling and handrail were covered in a black greasy substance like mildew. She could hear scraping and grunting sounds coming from Regina’s studio.

  ‘Regina,’ she called out. ‘Are you there?’

  ‘Fuck off, you whore of Babylon. I know you Mavourneen Duffy, the slut of County Claire. The bitch who gave herself to any boy who wanted you.’

  ‘No, I did not.’

  ‘You’re a fucking harlot. Sucking cocks by the dozen; lapping up cum by the bucketful; opening your legs for those sweet boys and giving birth out of wedlock.’

  ‘I didn’t do any of that.’

  ‘You’re a fallen slut of a woman, bitch. You fell on your knees in front of those throbbing juicy cocks and gave birth to a whore of your own. I’m coming for Marie next, and when I get her I’ll split her wide open with my monstrous cock.’

  ‘Why are you talking like that? Stop it. You’ll never get Marie. I’d rather die than . . .’ What was she saying? Who was behind that door. Regina wouldn’t say those things.

  She reached the door to Regina’s studio and tried the handle, but even though there wasn’t a keyhole, it seemed to be locked. Maybe there was a bolt on the other side.

  ‘Can you open the door, Regina?’

  Something crashed into the other side of the door. ‘Fuck off, bitch. You’re not coming in here. She’s mine. I’m going to devour her bit by bit until she’s all gone.’

  ‘If you’re not Regina, who are you?’

  ‘Who am I? Little old me? My name is fornicator, cocksucker, and motherfucker. Come inside and I’ll show you my dripping phallus. You can suck it and take it all the way . . .’

  ‘I’m not listening anymore.’

  ‘Don’t you want to know the truth about yourself, Mavourneen? Don’t you want to know how your harlot of a mother gave birth to you in a filthy ditch and rats licked the snot from your nostrils?’

  ‘No, she didn’t. None of that is true.’

  ‘I was there. I saw it all.’

  She backed down the stairs.

  Her hands were slimy from touching the door handle and the handrail on the stairs.

  There seemed to be a lot more going on here than a simple haunting. Why was Regina talking like that? Why was she swearing and speaking about things she couldn’t possibly know anything about?

  She heard a knocking at the front door.

  Had half-an-hour disappeared already?

  ‘I’m Nick Wilson – the builder,’ the young man said when she opened the door.

  ‘Yes, come in.’

  She led him down into the basement and showed him the wall. ‘Clear everything from in front of it, and knock a square hole about eighteen by eighteen inches in the middle. I want to be able to see what’s behind that wall.’

  Nick pulled a face. ‘Isn’t it the outer wall?’

  ‘That’s what it’s meant to be, but the architects have measured and drawn it twelve feet short of the outer wall, so we think there’s a hidden room there.’

  ‘Interesting. Okay, I’ll bring my tools in from the van and get started. There’ll be a bit of noise, but as my old gran used to say: “You can’t make an omelette without breaking a few eggs.”’

  ‘I understand. Call me when there’s a hole.’

  ‘Of course.’

  She went back upstairs and called Quigg. He would know what to do, because she didn’t.

  ***

  It was a straightforward thirty-minute run along the A40 to the renowned Professor Alice Neuville’s private clinic in Harley Street. He arrived ten minutes early. The receptionist asked him to take a seat and offered him coffee, which he declined. He remembered what Doc Solberg had said about the professor: “Be careful what you say and do, she has a way with her.” What did she mean? Oh well! He’d no doubt find out sooner or later.

  Professor Neuville appeared from a door behind the reception desk, spoke briefly to the receptionist and glanced up at him. ‘Detective Inspector Quigg. Please come this way.’

  She wore a black pencil skirt, a black and white polka dot off-the-shoulder mid-sleeve blouse and black stiletto shoes. Her blonde hair was scooped back into a French fan. She was still wearing the two watches on her right wrist.

  He stood up and followed her along a dimly-lit corridor to an office with a stippled glass window in the door, and her name and post-nominal letters stencilled on the glass in black.

  ‘Please, lie down on the couch,’ she said, pointing to a well-worn brown leather knee-high couch positioned diagonally in the centre of the room.

  ‘Lie down on the couch?’

  ‘Yes, please. And repeating what people say is called Echolalia and is a form of childhood autism that should have stopped by the time you were two years old.’

  ‘Echolalia! Well, I thought you’d brought me here to discuss your hypnosis of Regina Humblin?’

  ‘I did, but first we have to address your problems.’

  ‘My problems! I don’t have any problems.’

  ‘A person with problems always says that. Denial is a primitive defence mechanism to preserve the fragile sense of self-esteem that people with problems have.’ She pushed him down onto the couch, raised her skirt slightly and perched on the edge.

  He sank into the leather. It was more like a memory foam mattress than a treatment couch. A wave of tiredness washed over him. He hadn’t been sleeping well lately that was for sure. A couple of hours of uninterrupted sleep would address the bulk of his problems.

  ‘What are these problems I’m meant to have then, Professor? Nobody else has mentioned any problems to me, and I can’t say I’ve experienced any problems . . . Well, I do suffer from Necrophobia.’

  ‘Really? And you’re a murder detective?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘How revealing. And this stems from your childhood?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘And what about the problems with your libido?’

  ‘No, no problems there.’

  ‘I beg to differ.’

  ‘I’m sorry?’

  ‘You live with three women – yes?’

  ‘Well, yes . . .’

  ‘And how many children do you have?’

  He went to sit up.

  She pushed him back down.r />
  ‘Have you got a piece of paper?’

  ‘You don’t remember how many children you have?’

  ‘It’s in the region of around eleven or thereabouts. If you need a more accurate . . .’

  ‘Eleven! I see. And you say you have no problems?’

  ‘None.’

  ‘Show me.’

  ‘Show you what?’

  ‘Before I can move forward at a psychological level, I have to ensure there are no physical issues that need to be resolved first. Undo your trousers and I will carry out a three-stage physical examination.’

  ‘Is that really necessary? I mean, I’m here about . . .’

  ‘I don’t have a lot of time, Inspector. As you can imagine, a renowned professor of psychiatry has many calls upon her time. And someone of my international standing . . .’

  He undid his trousers, but he was a bit sceptical about what was happening. Where was she going with all this? As far as he was aware he had no physical or psychological problems.

  He undid his trousers.

  She walked over to a stainless steel trolley, slipped on a pair of plastic gloves, picked up a tube of lubricant. As she returned to the couch, she smeared a healthy dollop of the lubricant into the palm of her hand and sat down on the edge of the couch again. ‘Mmmm! Let us see what we have here.’ She gripped his penis.

  He squirmed and cried out. ‘You could have warmed the jelly up first.’

  She cupped his testicles in her right hand and began massaging his gradually engorging penis with her left. ‘It seems to be working satisfactorily.’

  ‘I could have told you that.’

  ‘You would be surprised at the amount of my patients with problems who lie to me. I take great pride in getting to the very truth of the matter. Nothing escapes me.’

  He wondered why she was still massaging his penis. ‘As you can see, it works just fine. Is that it now?’

  She pursed her lips. ‘We are only at the first part of my three-part physical examination.’

  ‘Okay.’ He didn’t care anymore, because he was at the point where he didn’t care anymore – he ejaculated.

  She prevented the sperm going everywhere by smothering the end of his penis with a glove. She walked over to the stainless steel trolley and brought back a man-sized box of tissues. ‘Very good, that is the first part of the examination completed. You are doing well so far, Inspector.’ She began wiping off the lubricant and sperm, but as she did so his erection came back. ‘Ah! Ready for part two, I see.’ She stood up, unzipped her skirt and took off her top.

  He wondered why she wasn’t wearing any bra or panties as she sat astride him and manoeuvred his penis into her. It also crossed his mind whether what she was doing was actually a legitimate physical examination. He guessed it must be if she was a renowned professor. She could be struck-off if it was anything other than that. Oh well, his part in all of this was not to wonder why, but to demonstrate that he didn’t have any problems – physical or otherwise – and that everything was working as it should be.

  ‘Now we will sort the men from the boys,’ she said in a strange husky voice. She had a good body. There were no stray hairs, rolls of fat

  He wasn’t one for simply lying there, so he shared the workload by thrusting up, massaging her breasts and guiding her hips up and down.

  ‘Now would be a good time,’ she said.

  He ejaculated inside her.

  ‘You have successfully completed part two of the physical examination, Inspector.’

  ‘I said I didn’t have any problems in the libido department.’

  ‘Let us not be premature with our conclusion. Part three will test you to the limit.’

  ‘Oh!’

  She climbed off him, wiped herself and then spent a long time cleaning his penis. ‘How are you feeling?’

  ‘Yes, I feel good.’

  ‘I can see that. Are you ready for part three?’

  ‘Let’s do it. I’m going to pass this physical with flying colours.’

  ‘Please, stand up.’

  He did as he was told and his trousers slid down to his ankles.

  She leaned over, put her hands on her desk and opened her legs slightly. ‘I’m sure you have an idea of how this part goes?’

  ‘I think I do,’ he said, shuffling over and sliding into her. He massaged her breasts, pushed in hard and established a rhythm.

  ‘Yes,’ she said. ‘Keep going. You are nearly there.’

  Nearly where? Sweat dripped off him as the physical examination became more physical. He huffed and he puffed and he blew the house down.

  She collapsed onto her desk.

  He collapsed on top of her.

  ‘I’m pleased to tell you that you’ve passed your physical examination, Inspector Quigg.’

  ‘That’s good.’

  ‘Next time, we will be ready to move onto the psychiatric assessment.’

  ‘Next time!’

  ‘The first thing we’ll do is to work on your Echolalia.’

  ‘Ah!’

  They both got dressed.

  He could have done with a shower, but it didn’t look as though he was going to get one.

  ‘What about your hypnosis of Regina Humblin, Professor?’

  ‘It went very well, but there was someone else in there with her.’

  ‘Someone else! You mean, like another personality?’

  ‘That is what he wanted me to believe, but I had the measure of him. It wasn’t a personality, it was an entity.’

  ‘You’ve lost me.’

  ‘An entity is distinct from a personality in that it has its own independent existence. A personality can split into a number of other personalities, but it can never be totally independent. Whereas an entity is completely separate.’

  ‘Still not there, Professor.’

  ‘There is someone else inside her.’

  ‘Someone else! How does that work?’

  ‘Possession.’

  He half-laughed. ‘Possession!’

  ‘You really need to stop repeating what people say, it makes you seem like an idiot.’

  ‘Oh, okay! Anyway, are you suggesting that Regina Humblin is possessed?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘By what?’

  ‘He calls himself Henry.’

  ‘Well, Duffy has established that the first occupant of the house was a Naval Officer called Surgeon Superintendent Henry Grey who worked on the convict ships transporting convicts between Southampton and Tasmania. Could it be his ghost that has possessed Regina Humblin?’

  ‘That explanation certainly fits in with the drawings you sent me. However, I think it is more than that.’

  ‘More than that! How can it be more than that?’

  ‘In light of what I discovered during the hypnosis of Regina Humblin yesterday, which I will write a research paper on for The British Journal of Psychiatry, I consulted the previous literature and found that ghosts are considered to be demonic spirits who are able to control human beings and make them do horrific deeds.’

  ‘You’re suggesting that a demon has possessed Regina?’

  ‘A demon who is masquerading as your Surgeon Superintendent Henry Grey.’

  ‘A demon once removed, so to speak?’

  ‘If you wish.’

  ‘Not a ghost?’

  ‘Ghosts are simply the spirits of dead people and don’t possess human beings themselves.’

  ‘All of this depends on whether you believe in life after death, Heaven and Hell, ghosts, demons and human possession.’

  ‘Of course, but provide me with another explanation?’

  ‘As a renowned psychiatrist, you were meant to be providing me with another explanation – a psychological one.’

  ‘Yes, but that isn’t going to happen. My advice to you is to seek out a priest who can perform an exorcism on Mrs Humblin.’

  ‘That’s crazy.’

  She smiled. ‘If you want crazy, you’re in the right place, Inspecto
r. I am only telling you what my hypnosis revealed. Regina Humblin has a demon inside her. What concerns me now is that he knows that I know he’s in there. His subterfuge didn’t fool me, and he might not hide anymore. I woke up the sleeping demon. You wanted my opinion. Well, here it is: Ask a priest to perform an exorcism before it is too late.’

  He pulled a face. ‘Okay. Well, thanks for your input, Professor. I’ll give your opinion some thought. Oh, and thanks for the three-part physical. It was very comprehensive . . . and enlightening.’

  She followed him out and said to her receptionist, ‘Book Inspector Quigg in for another appointment in a month’s time will you, Poppy?’

  ‘Of course, Professor.’

  Poppy accessed her computer and said, ‘Would two o’clock on Tuesday, December 5 be all right for you, Inspector.’

  He had no idea what he would be doing on that day – if anything, so he said, ‘Yes, that will be fine.’ He also wondered whether a second appointment was really necessary. Hadn’t he passed the physical with flying colours and proved his libido was fine? Maybe there was more to the libido than he thought. Maybe it did have physical and psychological aspects. Well, he’d passed the physical part of the libido test, and he was sure that he wouldn’t have any trouble with the psychological part either. Maybe there was a pamphlet or a book that he could revise, so that he was fully prepared. He’d take a look when he got a minute.

  ‘And make sure I’m free all afternoon, Poppy. I think it will be a long session.’

  ‘Yes, Professor.’

  Poppy passed him a card with the details of his next appointment written on it.

  ‘Thank you.’ He slipped it into his wallet.

  ‘Goodbye, Inspector Quigg.’

  ‘Goodbye, Professor.’

  On his way down the steps of the clinic his phone vibrated. It was Duffy.

  ‘Hello, Duffy. How’re things going?’

  ‘You’d better come, Sir.’

  ‘Come! Come where?’

  ‘To Copperfield Street.’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘Something’s happened.’

  ‘Define “something”?’

  ‘I can’t. You’d better come.’

  ‘All right, I’m on my way.’ He checked his watch – it was three thirty. He definitely had to get back to the station by five o’clock for his rendezvous with Miss Tinkley. Could he drive to Southwark, deal with the problem at Copperfield Street and then get back to the station by five o’clock? He simply had to. But then what choice did he have anyway? Duffy was asking for his help. Her life might be in danger. Something was obviously happening at Copperfield Street that had prompted her to call for him – he had no choice but to go to her assistance. Could there be anything in the Professor’s revelation that Regina Humblin had a demon inside her?