by Ellis, Tim
He glanced at the Chief’s government-issue clock hanging on the wall – it was quarter to six. If memory served, he should have clocked-off at five o’clock. ‘Very generous, Chief.’
‘Mrs Belmarsh says I’m generous to a fault.’
‘Give your wife my best, Sir.’
‘Goodnight, Quigg. And well done on a good day’s work.’
‘Thanks, Chief. Nice of you to say so.’
***
Wednesday, November 2
He was sitting in the canteen nursing a mug of coffee and minding his own business when Inspector Nicky Wright slid into the chair opposite him.
It unnerved him that she didn’t say anything. She simply stared into his eyes. He hoped it wasn’t true that the eyes were the windows to the soul, but if it was true, then he hoped that his windows were grubby and difficult to see through. He wondered if she’d come to the canteen for some quiet time, like he had.
‘Hello, Nicky.’
‘Hello, Quigg.’
He didn’t want to ask her why she was sitting opposite him, because he didn’t really want to know the answer. He was sure that if she had something to say, she would come right out and say it. If there was one thing he knew for certain about Nichola Wright, it was that she wasn’t backwards in coming forwards.
‘Do you want to know why I’m here?’
‘Here in Hammersmith Police Station?’
‘Sitting opposite you?’
‘No, I don’t think so.’
‘A detective always wants to know.’
‘Not this detective. I’m simply enjoying some quiet time before I have to go back and re-write my report for the umpteenth time. The Chief makes it a point not to accept my first twenty efforts.’
‘My house. Saturday morning nine o’clock.’
‘Are you having a bit of a get-together?’
‘No, but I have a long list of odd jobs that need to be completed by an odd-job man.’
‘Who would be me?’
She stood up. ‘Who would be you. Don’t be late.’
***
Thursday, November 3
‘Quigg,’ he said into the phone. He was catching up with the paperwork that had accumulated on his desk like a virus. In fact, paperwork seemed to be ninety percent of his job now. It used to be, in the good old days, that filling out forms and completing reports was only a minor inconvenience, but things had changed dramatically over the years. Plausible deniability was no longer an option. You would be held accountable whether you knew what was going on or not.
‘It’s Sergeant Sage, Inspector.’
‘Yes, Sergeant?’ He’d been expecting the call. In fact, it had been hanging over him like the Sword of Damocles. Well, here it was – about to drop.
‘It’s time to provide me with your evidence, Sir.’
‘I’m ready, Sergeant. Where?’
‘Inspector Kym Frederick is away on a course. We’ll use her office, if that’s all right with you, Sir?’
The office was out of the way along a corridor full of storerooms, network rooms and other obscure rooms. ‘You’ve got the key?’
‘Of course.’
He made his way to Inspector Frederick’s office. A break from the mind-numbing paperwork would be a welcome diversion.
The blinds were closed, but he knocked – just in case he was being led up the garden path on a wild goose chase.
‘Come in.’
He opened the door to find Sergeant Ada Sage leaning against the empty desk. He guessed she must have cleared the computer monitor, keyboard, file trays and other clutter off the desk in preparation.
‘Close the door,’ she said.
‘Are you not on duty, Sergeant?’ he asked, closing and locking the door.
She was wearing a red skater dress that came to just above her bare knees. It was flared from the waist and buttoned down the front. On her feet were brown leather cowboy boots.
‘A Detective Inspector might be able to disappear for three hours at a time, but a Sergeant needs to be visible and accountable. I’ve come in on my day off to obtain your evidence.’
‘Three hours!’
‘I want all your evidence, Sir.’
‘But three hours.’
‘Don’t worry, I’ll guide you through what’s required.’
He felt the monster stirring. ‘You look good enough to eat, Sergeant Sage.’
‘That’s exactly what I had in mind – kneel.’ She lifted up her dress and parted her legs. ‘Do you need me to provide you with detailed instructions?’
He felt like Moses at the parting of the Red Sea. She was clean-shaven and wasn’t wearing any panties. ‘No, I don’t think so. I have a rudimentary knowledge.’
She moaned and squirmed a lot, and tasted of banana milkshake. He wondered if the flavour really was banana milkshake, or whether his tongue was sending the wrong chemical messages to his brain. Maybe she had all different flavours lined up on her dressing table such as raspberry ripple, Belgian chocolate, rum and raisons, walnut, peppermint, peaches and cream, pumpkin pie . . .
‘Your evidence seems to be holding up so far, Sir.’
‘It’s not the first time I’ve given evidence.’ He stood up, dropped his trousers and turned her round.
She bent forward over the desk.
He guided himself into her. Three hours was a long time, so he began slowly.
Ada Sage had other ideas though.
It seemed to him that she had the bit between her teeth.
Pushing back towards him, she undid the front of her dress and shrugged it off. ‘Do it.’
He thought he was doing it.
‘Harder.’
He thrust into her harder, squeezed her breasts and massaged her nipples between his thumbs and forefingers.
‘Faster.’
He went a little faster.
‘Deeper.’
Deeper! Deeper touched on the small matter of length, which was always a touchy subject. He might have offered some excuses, but he was sure they would have fallen on deaf ears.
She began shuddering and collapsed face down onto the desk.
‘Don’t come inside . . .’
‘Oh God!’
‘Are you crazy?’
‘You should have said before.’
‘I thought I did. Oh well, it’s too late now. Lie on the desk.’
‘I could do with a bit of a nap,’ he said as he shuffled to the edge of the desk with his trousers around his ankles and lay down looking up at the ceiling.
She sat astride him and pushed him into her. ‘I like a man with a sense of humour.’
‘I really am tired,’ he wanted to say, but instead he made every effort to stay awake and provide the hard evidence Sergeant Ada Sage needed not to pursue a case of sexual harassment against him.
He cupped and kneaded her firm impressive breasts.
She began moaning again.
With her pinning him down, he had little choice but to ejaculate inside her.
‘You did it again.’
‘What else could I do?’
‘You’re trying to get me pregnant, aren’t you?’
He was still inside her. He’d expected her to climb off and begin tidying herself up, but instead she stayed where she was.
‘Getting you pregnant is not on my ‘To do’ list today, Sergeant Sage. Are you not on any form of contraception?’
She lay down on his stomach, put her elbows on his chest, her chin in the palms of her hands and stared at him. ‘Remember that slob of a husband I was telling you about?’
‘Uh huh.’
‘We were trying for a baby. Or should I say, I was trying for a baby. I have no idea where he was, or what he was doing – useless bastard. I told him to pack his things and move out yesterday. He’s gone back to his parents’ house.’
‘Really? Are you going to take the morning-after pill?’
‘Rumour has it that you’ve got some nice looking kids, Sir.’
/> ‘I don’t know who’s told you that, but they should be put against a wall and shot. My children are ugly. In fact, if we go out anywhere, I have to put paper bags on their heads so that attractive people aren’t offended.’
She started to wriggle.
‘Don’t wriggle like that, Sergeant.’
But she wriggled like that some more.
‘Now look what you’ve done.’
He had an erection that resembled the Colossus of Rhodes.
She began moving up and down on him. Her face was flushed, her breathing heavy, her jaw set hard and she was exercising her vaginal muscles as if she was on a work-out at the gym. ‘What they say about you is true,’ she said between grunts.
‘What do they say about me? Who?’
But she’d passed the point of no return.
She shuddered.
He shuddered.
‘You did it again, Inspector.’
‘You made me do it, Sergeant. I’m beginning to suspect you have an ulterior motive that you failed to divulge when you were being questioned earlier.’
‘Have you got any evidence left?’
‘I very much doubt it.’
‘I’m not going to take your word for it – men are born liars. You can be on top this time.’
‘Very kind.’
They swapped places.
He was already as hard as tungsten when he entered her.
‘I like you, Inspector Quigg,’ she said, interlocking her hands around the back of his neck, and her feet behind his backside.
‘The feeling’s mutual, Sergeant Sage,’ he said, trying to take things slow and easy, but failing monumentally.
Afterwards, they curled up like two spoons in a drawer and slept for an hour on Inspector Frederick’s desk.
He was woken by hands massaging him.
‘What are you doing?’
‘Do you ask your suspects stupid questions like that?’
‘Sometimes. I thought we’d finished?’
‘I have the feeling you’re holding back on me.’
‘No, no. I’ve given you everything I had. Look at me – I resemble a wrung-out rag.’
‘We’ll see,’ she said, as she pushed him inside her and flexed her muscles.
***
Friday, November 4
‘Morning, ‘Spector Quigg.’
‘Hello, Mandy. Are you back delivering the post?’
She came in with an armful of post and let it spill onto his desk. ‘No wonder you’re a ‘tective, ‘Spector.’
‘I had special training.’
‘You must have told Mrs Morbid what she wanted to hear, cos she couldn’t get me back onto the post fast enough.’
‘It was nothing.’ It wasn’t nothing though. He’d gone down to Mrs Morpeth’s office yesterday, knocked on the door and she’d invited him in.
She squinted at him. ‘Do I know you?’
‘Detective Inspector Quigg.’
‘That’s you, is it?’
‘It’s me.’
‘I’ve heard some strange things about you. Are they all true?”
‘It depends what you’ve heard.’
‘I’ll take that as a yes. Keep your hands where I can see them, and don’t think you’re getting anywhere near my intimates.’
He was relieved.
Mrs Mildred Morpeth was in her mid-fifties with brown-grey wiry hair that fell to her shoulders like a stagnant waterfall, thick oval glasses that made her scary eyes appear twice as big, a wide neck that began from beneath her pointed chin, yellow jagged teeth and a black hairy mole wedged in the crease of her nose. She was truly a frightening sight to behold.
‘I’ve been unfairly maligned,’ he offered in his defence.
Her lip curled up like a scorpion’s tale. ‘I very much doubt that. So, what brings you down here from your lofty perch?’
‘I’d like to make a complaint.’
‘That doesn’t surprise me. You lot up there think we work for you.’
‘You do.’
‘So, what is it that you wish to complain about?’
‘The post.’
‘I’ve already made changes.’
‘That’s why I’m complaining.’
‘I’m in charge of the post, not you.’
‘No one’s disputing that, but it’s slower now than it was before and some of my mail went missing earlier in the week.’
‘No more changes.’
‘I’m sure that we can come to some arrangement?’
‘Arrangement! What exactly are you getting at?’
‘You scratch my back and I’ll scratch yours?’
‘Everything I’ve been told about you is obviously true. You’re a sexual pervert, Inspector Quigg. There are registers for people like you.’
‘No, I didn’t mean anything inappropriate. I’m merely saying that if you put Mandy back on the post, I’ll do something for you.’
‘Something?’
‘Of a non-sexual nature.’
‘I see. Why young Mandy?’
‘She’s better than the person you’ve got doing the post now.’
‘And?’
‘I enjoy talking to Mandy – she cheers up my mornings.’
‘Talking?’
‘Absolutely. There’s nothing inappropriate going on. Goodness me, she’s barely out of school.’
‘From what I’ve heard, I wouldn’t put anything past you.’
‘You can trust me, Mrs Morbid . . .’
‘I’m sorry?’
‘I said you can trust me, Mrs Morpeth. I wouldn’t say I was an angel, but I’m not the scoundrel I’m being made out to be.’
‘I have had other complaints.’
‘About me?’
‘About the post.’
‘There you are then.’
‘And you’ll do something for me?’
‘Name it?’
‘My daughter, her husband and their three young children live in a house.’
‘That sounds like a reasonable place to live.’
‘You would think so, but sometimes that’s not all there is to it.’
‘Oh?’
‘There’s something wrong with the house.’
‘I can do odd-jobs, but I’m not a qualified builder, plumber or electrician.’
‘It’s haunted.’
‘You probably need a team of paranormal investigators with all their specialist equipment that can identify . . .’
‘Didn’t you say, “name it”?’
‘I did.’
‘Is this what you do when the Chief gives you a case – try to wriggle out of it?’
‘Mostly yes, but I can see where you’re coming from. You want me to take a look at the house?’
‘No.’
‘No?’
‘That implies you’ll stand in the road, look at the house, shake your head in dismay and walk away feeling all warm inside for a job well done. I want you to investigate and find out what the problem is with that house and fix it. As well as all the weird things I’ve heard about you, people also say that you’re a pretty good detective. Now’s your chance to prove it.’
‘Sunday morning okay – say about ten o’clock?’
‘I’ll tell them to expect you.’ She wrote down the details on a piece of paper and slid it across the desk.
He glanced at what she’d written on the paper and noted that it was across the river. It would take him roughly thirty minutes on the tube from Hammersmith to Southwark:
Stanley and Regina Humblin
66 Copperfield Street
Southwark
SE1 0EN
‘Leave it with me . . . And you’ll put Mandy back on the post?’
‘Already done – did it this afternoon.’
He stood up, gave her a pathetic smile and left.
Now, Mandy came fully into his office and sat down. She was wearing a daringly low-cut top that nearly revealed her nipples. It was beige in colour and similar to a
lace bodice with hooks-and-eyes down the front. He wondered if it was maybe a couple of sizes too small, because it only reached to just above her pierced navel and the tattoo of an all-seeing eye.
‘I got something else for you as well, ‘Spector,’ she said.
‘Oh?’
‘You’re half-way up the ‘Spector’s board.’
‘Really?’
‘Really.’
‘What did you do to achieve that, Mandy?’
‘I didn’t do nothing yet. You must have done it yourself.’
‘Me! What did I do?’
‘You tell me.’
He sat back and thought about what he’d been doing, but without knowing the marking criteria he was as much in the dark now as he ever was.
***
Saturday, November 5
Even before he’d had time to knock, the door opened.
‘You’re late,’ Nicky said to him.
He checked his watch – it was fifteen seconds past nine o’clock. He opened his mouth to protest in the strongest possible terms, but she’d already gone back into the house. He stepped inside and closed the door behind him.
‘In the kitchen, Quigg.’
He shambled along the hallway and into the kitchen.
‘Coffee?’
‘What do I have to do for it?’
‘No strings attached.’
‘Very generous.’
‘How old do you think I am, Quigg?’
As if he was going to answer a question like that truthfully. It was the type of question that could lead to war, murder, or certainly a lifetime of cold shoulders and celibacy. ‘Twenty-one?’
‘Very diplomatic. You’re authorised to tell me the truth.’
‘Maybe twenty-five.’
‘I’m fifty-five, Quigg. Five years from retirement.’
‘I’m sorry, I don’t accept that. You have the body of a young nymph. I’d like to see your birth certificate, and even then I’d want a sworn affidavit from the Registrar General.’
‘We’re doing things differently today.’
‘Oh?’
‘After you’ve had your coffee, I’m going to let you screw me senseless, and then I have an appointment at the doctors while you get on with the list of odd jobs I’ve written out for you.’ She passed him five sheets of A4 paper with a list on each that had been scribbled in the tiniest handwriting he’d ever seen.