Lost Children of Bethnal Green (Quigg #9)

by Ellis, Tim

  Rummage stood next to him, rummaged in her jacket pocket and pulled out a bunch of keys that had an LED penlight attached to the keyring. She switched the light on, so they could see clearly what was inside the box.

  He thought her hair smelled of cherry blossoms. He wasn’t sure though, because he didn’t really know what cherry blossoms smelled like, but if they smelled of anything then it would have been what Rummage’s hair smelled like at that moment. She’d come from Kent, been in the police force for seven years and a detective for two years, but what did he really know about her? She was attractive, there was no two-ways about it. He could imagine her naked on a bed. Her long dark hair cascading on the white satin pillow case, her strange blue eyes looking up at him, and her full lips begging to be kissed. But who was she really? Why hadn’t the Chief given him a copy of her personnel file to peruse at his leisure? He needed to know who he was working with, her motivations, strengths, weaknesses . . .

  There were very few items inside the box: A t-shirt; one slipper; an empty notebook; three pencils; a mashed-up piece of soap in a soap dish; a silver cross on a chain; and a small glass bottle – similar to those used for urine samples – with a screw-cap top that had five, odd-looking black seeds inside.

  Quigg picked up the bottle and said, ‘What are these?’ He had a good idea that they were seeds, but beyond that he knew nothing about flowers, seeds, gardening, or anything else horticultural for that matter. In fact, what he did know could have been written on the back of a penny black stamp, which would have still left room for three complete transcripts of the St James Version of the Holy Bible.

  Ms Hickey shrugged. ‘No idea. You understand that I’m the Custodian, don’t you? I didn’t pack the boxes and clean the rooms. Of course, there’s a list of the items contained in their records, but this is the first time I’ve seen inside the box.’

  Rummage pulled out nine-year-old John Snyder’s box and looked inside.

  Quigg slid Mabel Flynn’s box back and then peered into Snyder’s box as well. There was a pack of playing cards with an elastic band around them; a table tennis bat; three egg-sized stones; a baseball; a bag of marbles; a penknife; a chrome whistle without its pea; and a small screw-cap glass bottle with five black seeds inside. He picked up the bottle and said, ‘Look.’

  They checked the other five boxes of the most recent missing children. All the boxes had an assortment of items inside as well as a small screw-cap bottle containing five small odd-looking black seeds.

  Rummage made eye-contact with him. ‘That’s not a coincidence, is it, Sir?’

  ‘I wouldn’t think so, Rummage. But what the seeds have to do with the children’s disappearance – if anything – is anybody’s guess.’

  Rummage turned to look along the aisle. ‘And then there’s all the other boxes in this room and the other two rooms.’

  They went along the aisles, selected boxes at random, slid them out and checked inside. Of the ten boxes they examined, they found five screw-cap glass bottles with five small odd-looking black seeds inside each one.

  Quigg stared at Bellab Hickey. ‘What’s going on, Ms Hickey?’

  ‘As far as I’m aware Mr Quantock, nothing is going on. If there were, as the Custodian, I would know about it, but I don’t, so there’s nothing going on.’

  He pulled out his phone, but there was no signal. ‘I’d like to take a look in the other two storage rooms, Ms Hickey.’

  ‘Follow me.’

  She showed them into the rooms.

  They checked three boxes in each of the other two rooms and found four screw-cap bottles with five small odd-looking black seeds in each bottle.

  ‘We need to know what type of seeds these are,’ Quigg said, holding up the bottle that was in Theobald Moss’s box to the light as if that would help him identify what the seeds were. ‘Don’t you know, Rummage? Women are meant to know about seeds, flowers and things.’

  ‘I must have missed that lesson at school. All I know about seeds is that sunflower seeds are black and pointed.’

  Ms Hickey pulled a face. ‘Black and white striped, I would say. In fact, maybe the black isn’t actually black, but grey. And if I’m not mistaken, which I rarely am, there are speckles in the black. But not only that, I think the black – or grey – and white-striped outer covering is a shell, and the seed is actually contained inside.’

  Quigg rattled the seeds in the bottle. ‘What colour are the actual sunflower seeds inside the shells then?’

  ‘No idea. I’ve never actually seen a sunflower seed without its clothes on before.’

  ‘Okay, enough speculation.’ He decided to keep the bottle that had been in the box labelled Theobald Moss 8, 4/7, and slipped it into his jacket pocket. ‘I think we’re done down here, Ms Hickey.’

  ‘That’s good to hear.’

  They shuffled out into the corridor and headed back towards the concrete stairs.

  ‘But we’re not done with you and the Home, I’m afraid.’

  Hickey grunted. ‘I knew that if I let you in I’d never get rid of you. You people are like unwelcome guests who outstay their welcome. What more do you want from us?’

  ‘Whether you know it or not Ms Hickey, there’s something going on here. Those seeds in the glass bottles mean something, and I’d like to know what. Whether they’re connected to the missing children . . .’

  ‘Runaways.’

  ‘Whether they’re connected to the missing children or not, I don’t know, but the fact that all seven of the most recent missing children’s boxes contain a glass bottle with five seeds inside is too much of a coincidence to ignore. I want to talk to the staff and the children. I’m also calling in a forensic team to find out what those seeds are, and produce a list of which boxes contain a glass bottle with seeds inside. We need to know exactly what we’re dealing with here.’

  They climbed the steps.

  Hickey led the way.

  Quigg brought up the rear.

  At the top, Quigg waited for the door to open, but it didn’t.

  ‘It’s locked,’ Hickey called to them over her shoulder.

  ‘And you have a key to unlock it,’ Quigg reminded her. He wasn’t particularly bothered by enclosed spaces, but dead people were another matter. Ever since his mother – Mabel – had forced him to kiss his father’s corpse at the funeral at the age of eight he’d suffered from a pathological fear of dead bodies – Necrophobia, which involved night terrors and bed-wetting. Thankfully, the bed-wetting had ceased from the age of around fourteen, but Duffy and Ruth reported that he still sat up in bed at night during difficult cases and stared wide-eyed at something only he could see in the darkness, and sometimes – for no apparent reason – he’d begin to sob inconsolably. Of course, he had no memory of the episodes – as far as he was concerned he’d slept the night through.

  ‘It won’t unlock the door,’ Hickey said.

  ‘Let me try,’ he said, barging past Rummage and taking the key off Hickey.

  ***

  He slid the long key into the lock, turned it back and forth, and then tried pushing the handle down and shouldering the door open. Hickey was right – the key wouldn’t unlock the door.

  ‘Have you had this type of problem before?’ he asked her.

  ‘Never . . . but then, the door has never been locked from the outside while I’ve been on the inside before.’

  He banged on the door. ‘Anyone out there?’

  Nothing.

  He banged again with the heel of his clenched fist. ‘Help!’ Did he sound desperate? He hoped not. He wasn’t desperate – simply concerned.

  Hickey and Rummage joined in: “HELP.”

  He thought they sounded desperate, or at least a little panicky. He scrunched up his face in the dark at the din. ‘I don’t think we need all that noise,’ he said and moved back down the steps. ‘We’ll take turns. You go first, Ms Hickey.’

  As it turned out, they didn’t need to take turns.

  Shortly af
ter Hickey had begun banging and calling out for help, the door opened.

  They all spilled out into the corridor.

  A man in a brown janitor’s coat peered at them as if they were children who’d been caught listening at the door. The man had thinning greying hair, deep creases in his forehead, a wide nose, thin – almost non-existent – lips, and a rogue left eye. The name engraved on his badge was: Peter Kink: Janitor.

  ‘Thank you, Peter,’ Ms Hickey said.

  ‘I simply pulled the door, Ms Hickey. It must be sticking. I’ll take a look at it forthwith.’

  ‘It wasn’t locked?’ Quigg queried.

  Peter shook his head, but his left eye seemed to stay where it was. ‘No. I pulled on the handle and the door opened. As I said, I’ll examine the hinges, locking mechanism and door frame in due course. It must have become stuck, although it didn’t seem to be stuck when I pulled on the handle.’

  ‘Oh well, we’re out now. No harm done.’

  Peter stared at Quigg and Rummage.

  ‘Police officers,’ Hickey explained. ‘They’re here about the runaways.’

  ‘Ah!’ Peter nodded, as if that was all the explanation he needed. ‘Did Ms Hickey tell you that I saw John Snyder – not two days ago now – down by the railway arches on Brady Street. I was on my way to help out at the Good Shepherd Mission on Three Colts Lane, as I do every Saturday evening, when I saw John turn into Brady Street. I hurried after him, but by the time I reached the street, he’d disappeared.’

  ‘Brady Street,’ Quigg said. ‘That’s where the homeless sleep rough, isn’t it?’

  ‘Yes,’ Peter agreed. ‘They come to the Mission for a hot meal on Saturday evenings, which is why I’m there to help out. The homeless seem to gravitate to the railway arches because the location offers them some degree of protection against the inclement weather.’

  ‘Are you sure it was John Snyder?’

  ‘Definitely. It was coming onto evening, but still light enough to see by. John has ginger hair. It was definitely him.’

  Quigg pulled out the screw-cap glass bottle with the seeds inside from his jacket pocket, held it up and shook the seeds. ‘Do you know what these are?’

  Peter took the bottle from Quigg and stared at the seeds inside. ‘They’re seeds, aren’t they?’

  ‘Yes, but do you know what type of seeds?’

  ‘Sorry. I don’t do gardening.’

  ‘Have you seen any of the children with these glass bottles or the seeds?’

  ‘Can’t say I have.’

  ‘Okay. Thanks for your help, Mr Kink.’

  ‘You’re welcome.’

  They made their way back to the office where Daisy had the five years’ worth of monthly local authority returns stacked on the corner of her desk.

  Quigg took out his phone and called Perkins first.

  ‘Hello, Inspector. How are you?’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘Just being pleasant. Have you found a partner yet?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘That’s good news.’

  ‘Anyway, enough of the pleasantries. I’m on a case.’

  ‘Oh!’

  ‘You sound disappointed, Perkins?’

  ‘No. It’s just that there’s usually an increase in the body count when you’re on a case.’

  ‘Which is exactly why I’m on the case. And anyway, it keeps you from joining the queue at the Job Centre.’

  ‘That’s true.’

  ‘I’m at the Ragged Children’s Home on Old Castle Street in Bethnal Green.’

  ‘It used to be a school?’

  ‘That might be so, but it’s a Children’s Home now, so let me tell you why I’m calling?’

  ‘Of course.’

  ‘Seven children have gone missing from the Home this month . . .’

  ‘Seven?’

  ‘Yes.’ He could hear Bellab Hickey calling them “runaways” behind him.

  ‘This month?’

  ‘Yes. The staff here refer to them as runaways, and that might be true in some of the cases, but I’m not sure they’re all runaways.’

  ‘I see.’

  ‘Do you, Perkins?’

  ‘So far.’

  ‘Good, because I want you to come down here with your team of dusters, collectors and baggers to find out why some of the boxes in the left property stores, which contain the belongings of the missing children, also have in them a small screw-cap glass bottle with five seeds in them.’

  ‘Seeds?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘What type of seeds?’

  ‘If I knew that, I’d be doing your job, you’d be in the jobless queue and I’d be earning three times the amount of money I earn now.’

  ‘Three times?’

  ‘The pittance they pay me and your salary, which is double the amount of mine.’

  ‘Double?’

  ‘Yes, I’m astounded as well, Perkins. I risk my life on a daily basis to keep the good people of Hammersmith and Fulham safe in their beds. You, on the other hand, do very little of any note that I’ve been able to put my finger on. So, Rummage and I have . . .’

  ‘Rummage?’

  ‘Will you stop interrupting me? Rummage is my new partner – DC Jezebel Rummage – she’s come all the way from Kent.’

  ‘Does she know . . .?’

  ‘Yes, she knows she comes from Kent, and she also knows everything about me.’

  ‘And she’s still agreed to be your partner?’

  ‘I’ve had some bad luck lately, but I’m sure things will begin to pick up soon. So, let’s get back to why I’m calling you . . . If that’s all right with you, Perkins?’

  ‘Ready when you are, Sir.’

  ‘When the children aren’t found in their beds in the morning, they’re assumed to have run away during the night. There have been seven runaways this month. Any possessions the children leave behind are placed in a cardboard box and put on a shelf in one of three storerooms in the basement. When we checked the boxes of those seven missing children, that had been placed on a shelf in one of the storerooms, we found the usual odds and ends, but also – in each box – a screw-cap glass bottle with five small odd-looking black seeds inside.’

  ‘In all seven boxes?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘That’s odd.’

  ‘Very odd. We then checked another ten boxes at random in that storeroom and found five of the ten to contain exactly the same screw-cap bottle with the five black seeds inside.’

  ‘Are you sure . . .?’

  ‘I’m sure, Perkins. Unlike you, I have some inkling of what I’m doing. So, the small amount of possessions left behind belonging to the children who go missing have been kept since 1990. There are approximately a hundred and fifty boxes in each storeroom . . .’

  ‘That’s four hundred and fifty missing children in twenty-six years.’

  ‘I didn’t know you could count, Perkins. So, we decided to take a look in the other two storerooms. We checked three boxes in each storeroom and found that four of the six contained a screw-cap bottle with five seeds inside.’

  ‘There’s something going on, isn’t there, Sir?’

  ‘My exact words to the Custodian – Ms Bellab Hickey. So, now you know as much as me . . .’

  ‘I’m sure I know a lot more than you, Sir.’

  ‘About the case, Perkins.’

  ‘Of course.’

  ‘Also, I have five years’ worth of local authority monthly returns relating to runaways. I’d like them analysed by one of your people.’

  ‘Will do, Sir.’

  ‘So, assemble your team and get over here.’

  ‘Are you going to be there, Sir?’

  ‘Possibly. Although I’ve just discovered that one of the missing children was seen by a member of the Ragged staff near the railway arches on Brady Street.’

  ‘Where the homeless sleep?’

  ‘Exactly. So Rummage and I might very well amble over there and see what’s cooking.’

&
nbsp; ‘See you soon, Sir.’

  He ended the call, scrolled through his phonebook and rang the Duty Inspector. He just hoped it wasn’t . . .

  ‘Hello, Quigg,’ Inspector Nichola Wright said. ‘Looking for more odd jobs?’

  How it had happened – he had no idea, but that was generally the way of things as he knew them to be. He wasn’t particularly good-looking, but women seemed to find him attractive for some unknown reason, or at least gullible. They took advantage of the fact that he had great difficulty in saying no. In fact, he couldn’t say no. He should be more forceful, commanding, dynamic. It’s not who he was though. He liked an easy life, and it was easier to say “yes” than it was to say “no”.

  ‘Odd job is my middle name.’

  ‘Considering you don’t have a first name, that would make your parents very strange indeed.’

  ‘Yes, they were. I barely got out alive.’

  ‘Okay. Just as long as we’re both fully aware of the terms and conditions of me providing you with assistance . . .’

  ‘I come around to your house on a mutually convenient day and at a suitable time to carry out odd jobs?’

  ‘And we both understand what the term “odd job” actually means?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Excellent. What can I do for you, Inspector Quigg?’

  He told her about the missing children from the Ragged Children’s Home; the three storerooms in the basement; the four-hundred and fifty boxes stacked on the shelves; and the small screw-cap bottles containing five small odd-looking black seeds.

  ‘Sounds like there’s something going on there, Quigg.’

  ‘My thoughts exactly.’

  ‘So?’

  ‘So, I’d like a Sergeant and a couple of officers to come over here and interview the staff and children. I have Perkins arriving soon to delve into the storerooms and the boxes, but I need manpower to do the interviews.’

  ‘And womanpower?’

  ‘Definitely.’

  ‘Sergeant Ada Sage and about four officers?’

  ‘About four officers! How does that work? Has one of them got something missing? Or maybe a bit extra, like a sixth finger, or a third nipple.’

  ‘That’s what I like about you, Quigg.’

  ‘What?’