The Corpse in Highgate Cemetery: (Quigg 8)

by Tim Ellis

  Vlad the Impaler had come for him.

  But then he heard Holly’s soft voice in the darkness. ‘Take me instead,’ she said.

  Who was she talking to?

  The wind stopped whistling, the candles began flickering again and the chamber was empty – except for him.

  No Holly.

  No Dwyer.

  No McPhail and Wood having sex on the altar.

  No chanting hooded people.

  What the hell was going on?

  He stood up.

  Where had everyone gone?

  ‘Dwyer?’

  No answer.

  ‘DWYER?’

  ‘Nothing.’

  ‘HOLLY?’

  There wasn’t even an echo.

  ‘HELLO?’

  He was on his own.

  There were three exits from the chamber besides the one at his back that they’d entered through.

  Which one should he follow?

  Indecision rooted him to the spot. He couldn’t search all these underground tunnels on his own. Where were Dwyer and Holly? Where was McPhail and Wood? Had Holly Hornsey sacrificed herself for him? Why? Jesus! Was San Romani right? Was Vlad the Impaler and his ten undead soldiers feeding on the residents of Highgate?

  He shivered.

  What now? He needed help.

  He hurried back the way they’d come, found a dragon seal at the top of the steps that released the opening and stepped out into the relative comfort of the terraced crypt.

  There were six police officers milling around wondering what they were meant to be doing.

  One of them said, ‘Are you all right, Sir?’

  ‘Yes, but DS Dwyer, Constables McPhail and Wood, and a Miss Holly Hornsey have gone missing down there. I want the six of you to begin the search, work in pairs and scour the place until you find them – understood?’

  ‘Yes, Sir.’

  ‘Don’t come back without them.’

  ‘No, Sir.’

  ‘I’ll tell the Duty Sergeant to send more people to help you.’

  All six officers descended into the underground tunnels, but he couldn’t shake the feeling that the missing would never be found – they were either vampire food or soldiers of the undead.

  ***

  The time was quarter to nine and it was dark when she exited Shepherd’s Bush tube station. Thankfully, it wasn’t too far to walk to reach the safety of St Thomas’ Church on Godolphin Road.

  She was going home. The only home she’d ever really known, and the closer she got, the more she was convinced that she was doing the right thing.

  But when she got there the front door was ajar.

  She decided not to call out just in case . . . In case of what? Where were Annabelle and Beth, the two security operatives from Raid Security?

  As soon as she opened the door she knew the answer to that question – they were dead. She didn’t know which was which, but one was slumped up against the far wall with a spreading red stain between her substantial breasts. Quigg would have loved her, she thought. The other woman was to the left of the atrium lying on her front with an exit wound in the back of her head.

  This wasn’t part of the plan. She expected to walk into a house that was safe from the outside world, but it had been seriously compromised. Where were Ruth, Duffy and the children? She couldn’t hear anything. Maybe they were all dead and the killer had left. Maybe Quigg was dead as well. Maybe she was the only one left.

  There was a handgun on the floor beside the woman slumped against the far wall. She crept over, knelt down and picked up the Sig-Sauer P226. She knew enough about guns now to know that the safety catch was off. In fact, she knew more than she’d ever wanted to know about guns. It didn’t smell as though it had been fired. She pressed the magazine release catch and checked there were bullets – the brass casings glinted in the light.

  She heard the baby whimper in the living room. At least someone was still alive. The door was closed and the only entrance into the living room was through that door.

  Now what?

  Her options were limited. She had little choice but to go in search of the others.

  She pulled down the handle and pushed the door open an inch.

  ‘Come in Lucy Neilson,’ a man called.

  Shit! The bastard could see through doors.

  ‘And leave the gun in the hallway. We don’t want anybody to get hurt, do we?’

  How did he know about the gun? Maybe he was a fucking clairvoyant or something.

  Fuck him! She slipped the gun into the waistband of her jeans at the small of her back and pushed the door open.

  An unshaven man had one arm round Ruth’s neck and the other held the muzzle of a gun against her face. His long greying hair was swept right back and she thought his eyes were too close together.

  Duffy and the four children were on the sofa.

  He was standing behind Ruth to one side of the sofa and in front of the stained-glass window.

  ‘Come in,’ he said ‘Take a seat. Don’t do anything stupid.’

  ‘Why should I? You’re going to kill us all anyway.’

  ‘Maybe I’ll spare the children. I have killed children in the past, but they were a bit older. These four are hardly worth the lead.’

  Where the fuck was Quigg? He was always missing when the shit hit the fan. Was that by design or accident?

  A noise like the crack of a whip ricocheted through the room. A small round hole with spidery fissures spreading out from it appeared in the stained-glass window behind the man

  Lucy ducked. Who the hell was firing a weapon in through the window when there were women and children in the room?

  The man was jolted forward onto the sofa. ‘FUCK!’ he shouted. Blood was soaking through the back of his jacket as Ruth threw her body over Duffy and the children. As he hit Ruth he twisted to face the window and emptied the magazine from his gun through the coloured glass, which disintegrated into a million pieces and fell onto the floor.

  She grabbed the gun from the small of her back, aimed and fired three bullets into him.

  He slid onto the floor like a bag of cement.

  The door creaked as somebody opened it.

  She turned, prepared to fire.

  ‘It’s me,’ her father called.

  ‘How the fuck did Deakes get here?’ she said.

  Duffy pulled a face. ‘There are children in the room.’

  She turned her head to look at Duffy. ‘Sorry.’

  ‘It’s not Deakes,’ her father said. ‘I only recently discovered that another operative was sent to shadow him. If the main operative fails, the shadow completes the mission.’

  ‘There’s not a shadow of the shadow, is there?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘Excuse me,’ Duffy interrupted. ‘What’s going on?’

  ‘Oh! This is my father,’ Lucy said.

  Duffy and Ruth smiled at him. ‘Hello.’

  ‘Hello,’ he said.

  ‘Don’t smile at him, he’s not staying.’

  Ruth stood up. ‘We’ll put the children to bed while you clear this mess up.’

  Lucy screwed up her face and said to her father, ‘So what happens now?’

  ‘Now we dispose of the evidence.’

  ‘We? I’m not disposing of any evidence.’

  ‘You can help me carry the bodies. I have an estate car outside.’

  ‘Not the two women.’

  ‘Yes, them as well.’

  ‘But they belong to someone else. I have to return them.’

  ‘You can’t. If the police get involved . . .’

  ‘. . . It’s all right. I have a good idea what would happen.’ She phoned Carole Arnold.

  ‘Hello?’

  ‘It’s Lucy Neilson about Annabelle and Beth.’

  ‘Oh yes?’

  ‘They’re dead.’

  There was no reply.

  ‘Hello?’

  ‘Sorry. Beth was my daughter.’

  �
�Then I’m sorry.’

  ‘What happened?’

  ‘I hate to say this, but they didn’t do a very good job. They were shot and killed in the hallway and the killer got into the house.’

  ‘What about the women and children?’

  ‘He was waiting for me to arrive, but someone else shot him through the window and I killed him.’

  ‘That’s good.’

  ‘But now we have a problem.’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘If we call in the police, Lancer Communications will find out that their operative failed and the women and children are still alive.’

  ‘I see. What are you proposing?’

  ‘Well, I don’t want to bury your daughter and Annabelle in unmarked graves if I don’t have to, and no doubt you wouldn’t like that either . . .’

  ‘No. All right, can the bodies be brought to an address I’ll give you?’

  ‘Yes.’

  Carole Arnold gave her the address.

  ‘Someone will deliver the bodies there within the hour, and I’ll call you tomorrow to sort out any other details.’

  ‘That’s fine.’

  She gave the address to her father and then helped him move the bodies into the back of an estate car that he backed up to the front door. She decided to keep the two handguns and spare ammunition that Annabelle and Beth had brought with them. If this continued she’d soon have her own armoury.

  ‘Will you be all right?’ her father said.

  ‘I’ve been all right for fifteen years without you.’

  ‘I know.’

  ‘Just kill the rest of your people, and I’ll bring down the Druid Council. Anyone who hasn’t got any secrets you’ll also have to kill them, but I’ll let you know which ones via the email you’ve given me.’

  He went to hug her, but she backed away.

  ‘What the fuck are you doing?’

  ‘I was . . .’

  ‘Well don’t. I don’t even know who you are. You do your job, I’ll do mine, and then we go our separate ways.’

  ‘You don’t want . . . ?’

  ‘What? To be a family again? No. I have a new family now. Goodbye.’ She turned, went back inside and burst into tears.

  Aftermath

  Thursday, September 4

  ‘I can’t believe you’ve lost three more of my officers, Quigg.’

  ‘Sorry, Chief.’

  ‘Sorry won’t cut it this time. There’ll be an inquiry at the highest level. You’ll be lucky to walk away as a Constable in charge of sweeping the car park. I mean, Vlad the fucking Impaler and ten undead soldiers! You’ve been smoking that wacky backy the Drug Squad confiscated last week, haven’t you?’

  ‘Absolutely . . .’

  ‘Don’t interrupt me when I’m in full flow.’ He waved the report Quigg had written while it was still fresh in his mind. ‘And I’d be joining you in the car park if I signed off on this.’ The Chief threw the report at him. ‘Re-write it. No blood-sucking vampires, no psychic civilians sacrificing themselves to save you, no naked police officers copulating on an altar. I mean . . . Jesus! You’re trying to finish me off, aren’t you, Quigg?’

  ‘That’s exactly the way it happened, Sir.’

  ‘My arse! You’ve charged AC Scott-Simpson with the murder of Fleur Trengrove . . .’

  The Chief was right, he had charged Scott-Simpson with the woman’s murder. Officers had searched the network of tunnels under Highgate Cemetery, but there was no trace of Dwyer, McPhail, Wood or Holly Hornsey. Where they were was a mystery that didn’t look as though it was going to be solved anytime soon. What they did find, however, was a bloody sacrificial altar. Perkins and his team were called in and discovered the blood belonged to Fleur Trengrove. Evidence of Scott-Simpson’s DNA was also found, which with the other circumstantial evidence, was enough to charge him with the murder.

  He cast his mind back to earlier. He’d been reading what Perkins had left on his desk about AC Scott-Simpson . . .

  Assistant Commissioner Michael Scott-Simpson was educated at Raynes Park High School, London. He joined the police as a Cadet/Constable in 1988. In 1997 he attended University College London to study law, graduated in 2000 and was appointed Divisional Commander in Cambridge. In 2004 he was promoted to Assistant Chief Constable (Operations) at Norfolk Constabulary. In 2007 he was seconded to Bramshill Police College as Director of Command Training. In 2012 he went to the Metropolitan Police Service as Deputy Assistant Commissioner and became Assistant Commissioner in 2013.

  Note from Forensic Officer Perkins: Eight years ago Scott-Simpson was Assistant Chief Constable at Norfolk Constabulary. Fleur Trengrove lived at 147 Bridewell Street in Wymondham (which is in Norfolk). On November 14, 2007 she was helping her parents to sell jacket potatoes at Norfolk County Fair when she was allowed to go for an ice cream. She was missing for over an hour, and Michael Scott-Simpson supposedly found her and brought her back. Following that day, Fleur was a different child, but she would never say where she was, or what had happened to her during that hour.

  . . . When the door opened.

  ‘Mornin’ ‘Spector Quigg.’

  ‘Hello, Mandy. You’re looking good enough to lick the topping off this morning.’

  She giggled. ‘You say some wicked things. I hear you lost another partner?’

  ‘They don’t make partners like they used to do, Mandy.’

  ‘Sergeant Dwyer was only temporary anyway, weren’t she?’

  ‘In more ways than one. Have I got any post today?’

  ‘No. I just thought I’d pop in and say good morning.’

  ‘Very sociable of you. I have to get on now, Mandy.’

  ‘Sure thing, ‘Spector.’

  She left the door open on her way out.

  He could have waited for Scott-Simpson to arrive with his solicitor, but he didn’t feel inclined. He sent a squad car with two bulky officers to handcuff the murdering bastard and drag him in by the scruff of his neck.

  When Lawrence Mobius-Slocum – Scott-Simpson’s solicitor – arrived, Quigg went down to formally interview the Assistant Commissioner.

  ‘You understand your rights?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘You’ve been arrested and charged with the murder of Fleur Trengrove in the early hours of Monday, September 1. Do you have anything to say?’

  ‘A preposterous charge, Inspector Quigg.’

  ‘Let me outline the evidence against you. First, we have a DVD of you taking part in an orgy at the LC Club, which also involved the victim – Fleur Trengrove. You had sex with her, and later you are seen leaving the club three minutes after the victim . . .’

  ‘None of which is illegal.’

  ‘We then have a witness who can place you at the victim’s address at approximately three forty-five on Monday morning, which was fifteen minutes before she was murdered. You are then seen driving off with her in your car.’

  Scott-Simpson didn’t say anything.

  ‘We had some difficulty finding the place you murdered the victim, but eventually we did find it in the tunnels beneath Highgate Cemetery. There, we discovered copious amounts of the victim’s blood and traces of your DNA.’

  The AC remained silent.

  ‘You learned that she was out for revenge . . .’

  ‘Don’t be ridiculous – revenge for what?’

  ‘For raping her when she was thirteen years old at the Norfolk County Fair in Wymondham. Did you know that she had a daughter? Well, it’s of no consequence, because the girl was adopted by a family in Highgate and named Bethany – that was why Fleur was here by the way, so she could see more of the daughter who was taken away from her immediately after she was born. Anyway, we compared the girl’s DNA with yours, which as you know is held on the database for elimination purposes, and guess what – they matched. So, we have motive, means and opportunity. Anything you’d like to say in your defence . . . Sir?’

  ‘I didn’t kill her, and you have no idea what did kill her.’
>
  ‘To be honest, I don’t think a jury will care. We have enough evidence to send you to prison for the rest of your life. You and I both know that you took her into those tunnels as a sacrifice, but we’re not going to say anything about that to the jury. They wouldn’t believe that Fleur Trengrove died of a real vampire bite, but they will believe that you used the superstition of the Highgate Vampire to make it look like she did.’

  He stood up and left Scott-Simpson stewing in his own juices. The jury would find him guilty of pre-meditated murder. He’d get twenty-five years, but would probably be out in fifteen if he was a model prisoner.

  Now, the Chief was still droning on: ‘I can see it was a difficult case that has obviously taken its toll on you physically and psychologically. You know me, Quigg. I’m a great believer in the saying: The devil makes use of idle hands, but I’m willing to let you have two weeks off to recover. How does that sound?’

  ‘Very generous, Sir.’

  ‘Yes, well don’t think I’m going soft in my old age. It was Mrs Bellmarsh who suggested it.’

  ‘Please pass on my thanks to your lovely wife, Sir.’

  ‘I will. And when you return to work I’ll have a new partner for you.’

  ‘I’ll look forward to that, Chief. Should I make a list of ideal qualities and traits that I’d like to see in a . . . ?’

  ‘No. You’ll get what you’re given and be thankful for it.’

  ‘Of course, Sir.’

  ***

  Rodney walked into The Hummingbird Cafe on Oaklands Grove in Shepherd’s Bush at eleven o’clock.

  DI Erica Holm was sitting on the left of the café three-quarters of the way in. She waved at him.

  He sat opposite her.

  ‘Morning, Rodney.’

  ‘Hello, DI Holm.’

  ‘I haven’t ordered yet. Are you having the avocado breakfast, or something else?’

  He looked at the menu. ‘Eggs Benedict for me, I think.’