by Tim Ellis
'Oh God!'
'She's not going to help,' he said, as the train arrived at the station.
Amy's knees buckled and she collapsed onto the floor. 'I saw the videos.'
'Everybody's seen them, but it's not me.'
'It could be you though. There are definitely similarities . . . Besides the head, I mean.'
'Very kind, but I have no plans for a career change.'
They both cleaned up, adjusted their clothing and made their way out to the command centre.
'Thank you for your help, Mrs English.'
'Glad I could.'
He went into the command centre. 'Time to go, Amies. I have to brief the Chief and the press. You could stay here, if you want to?'
'I'll stay here then.'
'What's the news on the penetrating radar?'
'Ten o'clock tomorrow morning.'
'Excellent. And the fee for Warner's services?'
'Merchant Acoustics are going to waive the fee.'
He raised an eyebrow. 'And what did you have to promise them to achieve that result?'
'I said you would mention their company name at the press briefing.'
'Ah! Good work, Amies. In return, I'll mention your name to the Chief. Don't be surprised if you become "Employee of the Month". The Chief likes nothing better than a good deal, bargain, discount and giveaway.'
'Thank you, Sir.'
'Right! I'll see you ladies at ten o'clock tomorrow morning. Don't do anything I wouldn't do.'
He reached the station with five minutes to spare, so he went to the toilet.
After she'd tried to drop him in the proverbial, he ignored Miss Tinkley and knocked on the Chief's door.
'Come.'
He went in and parked himself in an easy chair.
'Sit down, Quigg.'
'Very kind, Chief.'
'The offensive material has disappeared.'
'I'm glad to hear it, Sir.'
'So, we'll put that misunderstanding behind us.'
'I have no problem with that.'
'What news from the waxworks.'
'In a nutshell! Whooshing noises in the columns; a difference of opinion between an acoustic engineer and an architect, and ultra-wide band penetrating radar arriving at ten o'clock tomorrow morning to settle that difference of opinion. We should have answers tomorrow, Chief.'
'Good. That's what I like to hear.'
'Something else you might like to hear is that Constable Amies saved you five thousand pounds with her haggling skills.'
'Really?'
'I said you might consider her for "Employee of the Month".'
'Definitely. Jot down the details on a scrap of paper and I'll consider it.'
'Will do.'
'Any sign of a suspect yet?'
'Amies has this strange idea that one of the principal sculptors who supposedly died of a brain tumour in 2013 might not be dead at all. There's some confusion surrounding the doctor's name on the death certificate and she checking it out. I've said it's all a bit far-fetched, but I'm letting her run with it.'
'You have nothing else.'
'Which is exactly what I said.'
'So, you're on top of things?'
'As usual, Chief.'
'Mrs Belmarsh sends her best.'
'And likewise, Chief. I'll send her a bunch of roses as a thank you for keeping faith with me.'
'She'll like that.'
He stood up. 'I suppose I'd better go and face the press.'
'They'll focus on the videos.'
'I know, Sir. Don't worry, I have it under control.'
He made his way down to the press briefing room, sat in his usual chair and felt glad to be back.
A woman stood up. She had wavy blonde hair, dark red lipstick and a low-cut top showing cleavage that resembled a crevice on Everest. 'Ellie Whitaker from the Fulham Farrier. Can you explain the pornographic videos, Inspector?' she said, licking her lips slowly with a pointed tongue.
'I know you'll be shocked to learn, but the only part of those videos that belonged to me was the head. And anyway, I was a bit-part player in comparison to the Commissioner and the Chief. They had starring roles and should get top billing for their contributions. The sole purpose of the videos and posts was to discredit hard-working public servants such as myself. Thankfully, the attack didn't work. So, enough about the offensive material. It could have happened to anybody.'
'Susan Montague from the Chelsea Clarion,' another woman called out. She had straight brown hair to her shoulders, a flawless face, an off-the-shoulder patterned dress, no bra and her right hand was caressing her left breast. 'Do you use a stage name?'
He smiled. 'I only have one name, Miss Montague. Does anybody want to know what's happening in the waxworks?'
Nobody spoke up.
'Well, I'll let you know anyway. Otherwise, the paying public will think I'm not doing my job.' He told them about the number of victims discovered within the exhibits; the Roman numerals; the cause of death; the names of the known victims; the DNA profiles identified from the adipocere; the lack of any viable suspects; and the strange whooshing noises identified by Merchant Acoustics that occur only at night . . . By the time he'd finished, most had forgotten that he was a washed-up porn star trying to earn a crust. He stood up. 'Thanks for coming.'
'Inspector?' Susan Montague called.
'Yes.'
'Can you sign this for me?' she said, thrusting a photographic still from one of the pornographic movies towards him. It showed the naked man with head holding an erection like a weapon of mass destruction in his hand.
He didn't see the point in denying it again. And if he was being honest, if it attracted groupies like this woman, he wouldn't mind. He signed his name with a flourish and passed the photograph back to her.
She gave him a business card. 'Call me sometime.'
'I might just do that, Miss Montague,' he said, putting the card in his jacket pocket.
His phone vibrated.
It was a text from Sergeant Ada Sage telling him his fortnightly instalment was due. She was two months pregnant and didn't want to contaminate the foetus with other men's sperm, so it was his responsibility to keep her satisfied until the baby was born.
He made his way down to the mattress store.
She was already in there facing the wall, her skirt up to her waist and her legs spread apart.
As he undid himself, he knelt down and used his tongue like a snake. She tasted of dark chocolate milkshake with a twist of lemon.
She moaned with pleasure. 'Mmmm! I like surprises.'
'And i like surprising you.'
He stood up, positioned himself between her legs and entered her from behind.
After fifteen minutes they both orgasmed in a cascade of grunting and fluids.
'Is every two weeks working for you?' he asked.
'A customer satisfaction survey?'
'If you like.'
'Mostly. Maybe every other fortnight we could lie down and do it properly.'
'Properly! Was that not what we just did?'
'With our clothes off, some petting and kissing. Maybe two orgasms instead of one.'
'The customer is always right.'
'That's what I like to hear.'
He slipped his hand inside her blouse and held it on her stomach. 'How's the baby?'
'It's not kicking yet. I have scan next Tuesday if you'd like to come with me?'
'Definitely. What time?'
'Eleven o'clock.'
'I'll be there. Maybe I could treat you to lunch afterwards?'
'You don't have to, Sir.'
'I don't have to do a lot of things, Sergeant. But there are some things I want to do, and taking you to lunch is one of them. So, are you up for it?'
'I'd love to.'
'Good. That's a date then. Right, as much as I'd like to stand here in the mattress store swapping baby talk with you, I'm going home. Great to see you, Ada Sage.'
'And you, Sir.' She pu
t her arms around his neck and kissed him.
He kissed her back, which was the polite thing to do. 'What was that?'
'Have you not been kissed before?'
'Plenty of times, but not by a woman who said she was only interested in my sperm. Kissing isn't part of the deal. Next, you'll be wanting me to go shopping with you, and that will never happen – I don't do shopping.'
'Don't worry, I'm not going to ask you to marry me.'
'No offence, but I'm glad about that. As much as I think you're as hot as chilli peppers and a lovely person Ada Sage, everything is just fine the way it is.'
'Okay.'
He made his way out to the car park, climbed into his car and thought about Ada Sage kissing him. Kissing was never part of the deal. He hoped she wasn't changing the rules. Maybe it was just the pregnancy that was making her weird. All those colliding hormones did that to some women as if they'd had a personality transplant.
It had been snowing heavily for about an hour and there was already two inches of snow on the ground. Maybe there would be a white Christmas. They were certainly due one. He couldn't remember the last time Christmas had been white. He should start thinking of presents as well.
A tap on the window made him jump out of his skin.
He pressed the button to lower the window.
Susan Montague was blue and shivering like a straggler from an Arctic Expedition.
'What the hell are you doing out there, Miss Montague?'
'I was waiting for a lift, but they haven't arrived yet.'
He climbed out, took her round to the passenger side and helped her into the back seat. If he was being honest, she was hardly dressed for winter weather. Although she had on a fake fur jacket, her off-the-shoulder dress hardly covered anything of importance when she sat down.
She was still shivering when he clambered into the back seat with her and wrapped his arms around her.
'Thank you, Inspector. It was so cold out there.'
'Well, you'll soon warm up in here.'
'I hope so.' She unzipped him and began massaging his erection.
'That's not what I had in mind, Miss Montague.'
'Suzy.' She bent over, took him in her mouth and squeezed his testicles as if they were stress balls. Then, she hoisted up her dress, sat astride him and pushed him inside her. 'I saw those videos and I knew I had to let you screw me.'
'It's not me in those videos, Suzy.'
'Of course it isn't.' She wriggled out of the top of her dress and pushed his head into her naked breasts.
He surrendered to the moment and munched on her nipples. If he was meant to be a pornographic star, then he'd better act the part.
'Yes.' She shuddered, but she didn't stop.
In fact, just when he thought he might ejaculate, she slowed down to a crawl until the urge passed. In that way, she made the sex last nearly an hour. He lost count of the number of orgasms she had. But, at last, she allowed him to come. And, given the opportunity, he thought he could easily have filled an empty wine vat.
'I always wanted to have sex with a porn star.'
'Well, you can tick that off your bucket list. Are you warm enough now?'
'Just about right.'
'I have to make a move. Can I give you a lift anywhere?'
'No, I'm fine thanks.' She wriggled back into her dress and climbed out of the car. 'Maybe I'll see you soon, Inspector.'
'Maybe.'
As he adjusted himself, he watched her walk away. People would soon forget he was once a porn star. At least, he hoped they would. He clambered back into the front seat, turned the engine on and drove home.
***
With Harry's help, they eventually coaxed a naked, exhausted and dehydrated Estelle Adams down from Rita's loft.
Harry threw her clothes down.
Between Rita and Duffy they managed to put Estelle's clothes back on as she moaned about never wanting the orgasms to end.
Duffy called for an ambulance and they went downstairs to wait for its arrival.
When the paramedics had taken Estelle away to the hospital Rita said, 'Where's Edward?'
Harry shrugged. 'Gone.'
Her face dropped. 'I expect he'll be moving to Estelle's house now.'
'Let's see if we can contact Edward,' Duffy suggested.
'Now?'
'Yes. Not through a séance, but through an EVP session.'
'All right.'
'I think we should conduct the session in Rita's bedroom.' Harry said. 'It seems to be where he spends most of his time.'
Rita's face went beet red. 'That's all right with me.'
Harry collected the rest of his equipment and once they were in Rita's bedroom, Harry set up the ghost box and placed the digital audio recorder next to it to record the EVP session.
'Try asking Harry a few questions,' Duffy said to Rita.
'Me?'
'You know him best.'
Her voice cracked as she tried to speak. 'Edward! Are you there? It's Rita . . . Alice.'
They waited, but there was no fluctuation in the digital recorder's visual display.
'Keep going,' Duffy said.
'Edward! Are you there?'
Then all three of them heard the voice through the ghost box.
'I'm here, Alice.'
'Are you leaving me?'
'I could never leave you.'
'Who are you, Edward?'
'My last name is Snape. I was killed in a duel by a jealous husband in 1685 and buried in the ground beneath this house. I was what they called a rakehell, or rake. I wasted my inheritance on gambling, wine, women and song.'
'Why are you still here, Edward?'
'I am buried in unhallowed ground and cannot go forward.'
'Will you come to me tonight, Edward?'
'I will, my love.'
'You have your answer, Rita,' Duffy said.
Rita squeezed Duffy's hand. 'Thank you.'
Harry said, 'When we were here the first time, we picked up something during the EVP session that we didn't hear until we analysed the recording. Let her hear it Duffy.'
Duffy picked up her laptop, brought up the Audacity file and played the recording until they heard:
The night is here . . . The crows are burning.
Rita stared at them. 'What does that mean?'
'We were hoping you might be able to tell us.'
'No, I don't know. All I know is that crows are considered harbingers of death.'
'Yes, I think everyone knows that,' Harry said. 'But those words don't mean anything to you?
'No.'
'Maybe you have something else in this house besides an amorous ghost?'
'Well, if I do, I think we should let them be. Thank you for finding Estelle. I hope she's not going to sue me for being ravished by Edward.'
Duffy smiled. 'I don't think she will. I have the feeling that once she realises what happened, she'll be too embarrassed.'
'And thank you for finding out who Edward really is.'
'Our pleasure.'
'If you send me your bill, I'll pay it promptly.'
'You'll receive it in the next few days.'
Harry packed up his equipment, and they made their way out.
'A successful investigation,' Duffy said.
Harry pulled a face. 'Mostly, although we still don't know about the crows burning.'
'Maybe we'll never know, Harry.'
'Mmmm! I guess.'
The snow was swirling about them as they walked to Clapham Junction station.
'I'll contact you tomorrow and we'll talk more then.'
'Okay, Duffy. Have a good evening.'
'And you.'
***
He'd watched and waited from the van. There were a lot of comings and goings at the Dog & Duck in Kensington, and it was obvious that many weren't going in for a drink. He crossed the road and went inside.
There were only a few people in the bar.
'What'll it be, mate?' the barman said.
'Half a lager.'
'Coming up.' The barman poured the drink and put it on the bar in front of him. 'That'll be a pound twenty.'
He handed over a two pound coin and said, 'Keep it.'
'Thanks.'
He left the drink untouched. He hadn't drunk alcohol for many years. At the far end of the pub, by a door marked "STAFF ONLY", there were a group of men and one woman who barely had any clothes on.
People came in the door, headed straight for the group, bought what they required and left. They were not pub clientele. It seemed like there was a business within a business.
He watched and waited.
When it was fifteen minutes from midnight, he walked up to the group.
'Yes?' One of the henchmen said, blocking his way. He had both hands resting on the butt of a Glock pistol sticking out of the waistband of his jeans.
'I need to speak to Paolo.'
'About?'
'Is your name, Paolo?'
He wrapped his hand around the butt of his gun.
Jack looked in his eyes. 'I wouldn't do that. If you do, I'll take the gun off you and break your arm.'
The henchman hesitated.
'Who is, Benny?' Paolo asked.
'He wants to speak to you.'
'What about?'
'He wouldn't say.'
'Let him through.'
The henchman stood to one side.
He walked up to Paolo.
'Well, what do you want, Mister?'
'How much does Jezzie owe you?'
'Thirty thousand pounds.'
'That's some interest calculator you've got there, Paolo.'
'I have high overheads. What's it to you anyway?'
Moving slowly, he pulled out three bundles of fifty pound notes from the inside of his jacket and chucked them on the table. 'Is that it?'
'Sure. Tell Jezzie I'm here if she needs anything else.'
'She won't.'
He turned, walked out of the pub, crossed the road and climbed back into the van.
