The Corpse in Highgate Cemetery: (Quigg 8)
Page 29
‘A pot of tea?’
‘Please.’
She went up to the counter and ordered. When she came back she said, ‘Well, have I got news for you?’
‘And me,’ he said.
‘Oh?’
‘I’m finished with the case.’
‘We’re both finished, Rodney.’
‘How’s that?’
‘We had no luck with the DNA database, but those diplomatic plates you discovered were a gold mine. Currently, there are a hundred and sixty-three diplomatic missions in London because the Syrian embassy is currently closed. Between 1985 and 1993 there were a hundred and twenty-five. The first three digits of a diplomatic number plate are the country the diplomat represents – in this case 273 is American; the D means “Diplomat”; and the last three digits are the vehicle ID number, which enables someone to identify who was allocated the vehicle on any given day. We had to check with the security services, but they eventually came back to us early this morning.’
The waitress brought their food and drink.
‘An American diplomat?’
‘Yes – Erskine Lyman was allocated that car between 1985 and 1993.’
‘A diplomat! I still don’t understand . . .’
‘Mr Erskine Lyman was the American Ambassador to the United Kingdom during that period.’
‘Bloody hell! The American Ambassador? Now it all makes sense.’
‘Does it?’
‘Well no, not really.’
‘Sally Tomkins was his child by a prostitute called Marilyn Walsh. She was found murdered around that time . . .’
‘Lancer Communications?’
‘Yes, we think so. The child was placed with Leonard and Fanny Tomkins, and Erskine Lyman visited his daughter under a cloud of secrecy once a year. Of course, in 1993 he returned to the United States to take up various positions within the Clinton administration. That was when she was taken into care, and Leonard and Fanny Tomkins were murdered. We still don’t know where she was taken in 1995 when she was meant to be adopted, but we will.’
‘And why was Caitlin Quigg murdered?’
‘They couldn’t let her go to Canada, it was too close to America, and to Erskine Lyman and his legitimate family.’
‘Do you think he authorised her death?’
‘No, I think he forgot he’d had a daughter by a prostitute as soon as he returned to America in 1993.’
‘And do you know where DI Quigg’s daughter Phoebe is?’
‘Not yet, but we will. It’s early days, but thanks to you, Rodney, we’re going to solve this case.’
‘You know who Lancer Communications are?’
‘We’ve got three names so far. Don’t worry, we’ll get them.’
‘That’s good news. So, I can go back to investigating cheating husbands and wives?’
‘I don’t see why not, Rodney.’
***
‘Kneel down on the bed, Mr Quigg,’ Celia Tabbard said.
‘What for, Nurse?’
He was naked. Celia was wearing a very short nurse’s dress with a plunging neckline that showed her cleavage and most of her breasts, a small white hat, white lace hold-up stockings and plastic gloves.
‘Trust me. Everything will be just fine.’
He scrambled onto the waterbed. ‘Why are you wearing plastic gloves? And what’s in the tube?’
‘I’m going to perform a prostate examination. The lubricant in the tube will make it less painful.’
He pushed himself up. ‘I’m sorry! Less painful! A prostate examination? Are you crazy?’
‘A man of your age . . .’
‘My age! What’s wrong with a man of my age?’
‘An enlarged prostate can press on your bladder and urethra, which in turn . . .’
‘Who says I’ve got an enlarged prostate? In fact, where the hell is the prostate?’
She squirted a dollop of lubricant on the fingers of her right hand and another dollop in the palm of her left hand. ‘It’s a walnut structure that surrounds the urethra.’
‘You’re a lawyer, how do you know about walnuts?’
‘Tonight I’m a nurse, Mr Quigg. And as I was saying . . . an enlarged prostate can make urinating difficult . . .’
‘I don’t have any trouble urinating, thank you, Nurse.’
She pushed him down into the kneeling position again, pushed her index finger into his anus and began massaging his prostate. ‘I’ll be the judge of that.’
‘Whoa! What in God’s name . . . ?’
With her other hand she took hold of his erection and started to masturbate him. ‘How’s it feeling now, Mr Quigg?’
‘Mmmm!’ He wasn’t sure what the finger up his arse was doing, but he was enjoying the rest of the medical procedure.
He ejaculated into a glass measuring jug with quantities of “cups” and “fluid ounces” marked in red on the side. ‘Hello! What’s that for?’
‘Semen analysis.’
‘Excuse me?’
‘I am in possession of written instructions from the doctor, Mr Quigg. And it’s more than my job’s worth to fail to carry out those instructions, so it would go a lot smoother if you did as you were told.’
‘Instructions?’
‘Yes.’
‘Such as?’
‘She needs at least eight fluid ounces of semen for the analysis. I don’t mean to be overly critical, but there’s hardly a thimbleful in the jug at the moment. Anybody who knew about such things would think your heart wasn’t in it, Mr Quigg.’
‘I’m giving it my all, Nurse.’
‘Well, I’m sure you understand that neither of us can stop until I’ve obtained the amount of semen required by the doctor.’
Nurse Celia Tabbard had to use all her ingenuity during three hours of treatment to wring every last drop of semen out of him, but eventually the liquid in the measuring jug reached the target amount.
She smiled. ‘I didn’t think we’d do it.’
‘I didn’t think I had that much in me.’
They showered together. And although they had sex again, all he could muster in the ejaculation department was a dribble of clear fluid. ‘You’ve ruined me,’ he said.
‘Hardly. So, what did you want to speak to me about?’
‘CSA payments. My ex-wife is dead. Phoebe is missing. I’m still looking for her, but I’m not optimistic. Why am I still paying the CSA?’
‘I’ll see what I can do.’
‘Also, Caitlin was missing for four months. She didn’t touch the payments I made to her during that period. Can you see if I can have the money back?’
‘Okay.’
‘Finally, I live in hope that Phoebe will be found. I’m not Caitlin’s next-of-kin anymore, but Phoebe will be. I wouldn’t be surprised if Caitlin died intestate, so can you sort out her estate and put the proceeds into a trust fund for her.’
‘And what happens if she’s never found?’
‘I don’t know. I don’t want to think about that.’
‘I’ll include a codicil into the trust fund. If she hasn’t been found by what would be her eighteenth birthday then it goes to you, because you’re Phoebe’s only next-of-kin.’
‘That’s fine.’
‘I suppose you don’t need me anymore then?’ Celia said.
He smiled. ‘I’m sure a solicitor will always come in handy.’
‘Oh yes, solicitors are very good with their hands.’
‘And I haven’t told you about my mum and her house, have I?’
‘I’m listening.’
***
Wednesday, September 10
‘Hello Constable Gipson.’
After putting it off for a week, he’d finally gone down to the gymnasium in the basement to speak to Norma Gipson, and been directed by a sleek new recruit with asymmetrical nipples to the weightlifting room. Gipson was on the multigym grunting like an angry rhinoceros and pulling down on plastic handles connected to metal wires that had stacked bl
ocks of iron weights on the end.
God she was strong, he thought. He had no doubt she could break him in half with one finger. She had silver-tipped brown spiked hair, wore a tight mohair black leotard, sported a brown moustache that the Mexican revolutionary General Emiliano Zapata would have been proud of, had a jawline like a liquid metal robot, muscles on top of muscles, tiny breasts and thighs like bridge supports.
She stopped pulling on the weights and sat up. Sweat ran off her body and onto the seat and floor like a waterfall. ‘Inspector Quigg! I heard you might be looking for me.’
‘Pumping iron looks like hard work, Constable.’
‘Is that the best you can do?’
‘I’m not very good at small talk.’
‘Get to the point then.’
‘I hear that you’re the person I need to talk to if I want to know anything about the Inspectors’ chart.’
‘If I were, and I’m not saying that I am, what would you want to know?’
‘The categories. I mean, how can I move up the chart if I don’t know what the categories are?’
‘You’re not the only one who wants to know about the categories.’
‘That may be so, but I’m the only one at the bottom of the chart.’
‘You’re not at the bottom anymore.’
His face lit up. ‘I’m not?’
‘No. Unfortunately, you don’t register at all now. You’ve become a non-person, which is a first in my experience.’
‘I don’t see how that’s possible, Gipson. I’m a good Inspector; I look after the people who work for me; I’m friendly; I take the time to talk to people in passing . . . It’s just not fair.’
‘There’ll be a price to pay.’
‘Anything. Just name it.’
‘Anything?’
‘Yes. If I have to, I’ll sell my soul to the devil to find out how to move up that damned chart.’
‘Lock the door and take your clothes off.’
He knew this moment would come, but he was ready. He locked the door, stripped off his clothes and stood to attention like an eager recruit.
‘You’re a bit puny. Do you work out at all?’
‘I’m usually too busy to come down to the gym.’
‘Come closer.’
He took a pace forward. ‘Sir. Yes, Sir.’ He didn’t actually say it out loud, but he was thinking it.
She took his flaccid penis in her sweaty hands. ‘Does this work?’
‘I’ve had no complaints so far.’
She flicked it with her finger. ‘I can’t promise anything.’
‘What do you mean?’
‘Well, if I don’t get what I want, you don’t get what you want.’
‘That seems fair . . . I suppose.’
‘Fair or not, I make the rules.’
‘I understand.’
‘It’s like going to a restaurant. If the food’s rubbish – I’ll send it back to the kitchen. If the service sucks – I don’t pay a tip. If the whole dining experience is a disaster – I won’t pay at all. So, I’m looking for motivation, a strong work ethic, courage, character and passion.’
‘Are those the categories?’
‘Now they are. Tomorrow – who knows? Are you ready?’
‘I’m ready.’
‘Okay – lie down.’
‘Where?’
‘On the multigym.’
‘The multigym?’
‘That’s right. You’re going to be doing some weight training at the same time as pleasuring me . . . Although I’m not completely convinced that I’m going to get any pleasure out of that thing.’
‘Trust me – I’m good at this.’
‘You’d better be.’
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About the Author
Tim Ellis was born in the bowels of Hammersmith Hospital, London, on a dark and stormy night, grew up in Cheadle, Cheshire, and now lives in Essex with his wife and four Shitzus. In-between, he joined the Royal Army Medical Corps at eighteen and completed twenty-two years service, leaving in 1993 having achieved the rank of Warrant Officer Class 1 (Regimental Sergeant Major). Since then he has worked in secondary education as a senior financial manager, in higher education as an associate lecturer/tutor at Lincoln and Anglia Ruskin Universities, and as a consultant for the National College of School Leadership. His final job, before retiring to write fiction full time in 2009, was as Head and teacher of Behavioural Sciences (Psychology/Sociology) in a secondary school. He has a PhD and an MBA in Educational Management, and an MA in Education.
Discover other titles by Tim Ellis at http://timellis.weebly.com/
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Warrior: Path of Destiny
Warrior: Scourge of the Steppe
The Knowledge of Time: Second Civilisation
Orc Quest Book I: Prophecy
Solomon’s Key
Jacob’s Ladder
The Gordian Knot
Raga Man (Short Story)
As You Sow, So Shall You Reap (Novella)
A Life for a Life
The Wages of Sin
The Flesh is Weak
The Shadow of Death
His Wrath is Come
The Breath of Life
The Dead Know Not
Be Not Afraid
The House of Mourning
Through a Glass Darkly
A Lamb to the Slaughter
Footprints of the Dead
The Twelve Murders of Christmas (Novella)
Body 13
The Graves at Angel Brook
The Skulls Beneath Eternity Wharf
The Terror at Grisly Park
The Haunting of Bleeding Heart Yard
The Enigma of Apocalypse Heights (Novella)
The Corpse in Highgate Cemetery
Dark Christmas (Novella)
Collected Short Stories/Poetry/Anthologies/Non-fiction
Untended Treasures
Where do you want to go today?
Winter of my Heart (Poetry)
With Love Project – The Occupier
The Killing Sands (Anthology)
The Writer’s A-Z of Body Language (Non-fiction)
Summer of my Soul (Poetry)
First Shots (Anthology)
Also planned for 2015/2016:
Mortis Obscura: Scavenger of Souls (Farthing & Trask 1)
The Timekeeper's Apprentice
Orc Quest Book II: The Last Human
The Sword of Damocles (Stone & Randall 3)
The Song of Solomon (Harte & KP 2)
Dark Matter (Josiah Dark 2)
Chains of Illusion (Cyrus Kane 2)
The Kisses of an Enemy (Parish & Richards 17)