Body 13 (Quigg Book 2)

by Tim Ellis

  ‘Oh, I almost forgot!’ He went to the door and rummaged in his shopping. ‘I bought you a present.’ He put the toy rabbit on her bedside table. ‘It’s a brown and white furry rabbit; I know you’ll love it. I bet you’re wondering where I got the money. Well, it’s payday today and I also came into a bit of a windfall, which I’ll tell you about some day. I then had to beg the bank manager for a monkey to pay off the repair of my car.’

  ‘Yeah, I get my car back tomorrow night. Duffy’s been driving me round in an old MGB jalopy, but it’s like being back in the 70s when I get into it. Not that I know much about the 70s, but you know what I mean.’

  Seeing as Debbie wasn’t drinking her water, he poured himself a glass from the jug before he continued. ‘So, yesterday I get a call from the guy who’s standing in for you - a Jim Dewsbury. I don’t know if you know him? He seems OK. Anyway, he did some DNA analysis and found that two of the four children from the fire weren’t related to any of the adults in Mugabe Terrace. Then, remember I mentioned the investigative journalist, Ruth Lynch? Well, she told me about a group called the Apostles – no, they’re not a religious group. I reckon that they’re members of a paedophile ring, but I need evidence now and I’ve only got four days left before the Chief replaces me. Ruth and I both think that Body 13 was one of these Apostles and the other Apostles took him because they didn’t want him found in a room with two young girls. Well, you wouldn’t, would you? Especially if he’s a well-known person.’

  He had a thought. ‘I don’t know if you’ve ever read The Purloined Letter by Edgar Allan Poe? It features C August Dupin, one of the earliest fictional detectives – my hobby by the way. Anyway, the story is about a letter hidden in plain sight and, with that in mind, I have an idea about Body 13. If I’m right, I’ll let you know tomorrow. I bet you’re writhing inside wanting me to tell you now? Well, I’m not going to. It’ll give your brain something to work on overnight.’

  ‘Today we found out the names of the Mugabe Terrace occupants and that Body 13 was in flat eight on the top floor with the two children. No, we don’t know his name, but I’ll find him and the other dirty bastards. Oh, sorry. I don’t normally swear, but paedophiles make me want to. Well, that’s my visiting time up. I’ve got to phone my mum now and find out about where we’re going to live. I’m staying at Duffy’s flat at the moment, but it’s best we don’t discuss that.’

  He stood up. ‘I’ll visit again tomorrow. I haven’t seen much of your dad. I’m wondering if he’s still coming to see you.’ He leaned over and kissed her. ‘Goodnight, Debbie.’

  On the way back to the tube station, he called in at a Kentucky Fried Chicken and bought a coffee. The reception on the tube wasn’t reliable so he thought he’d make his phone calls while he had a coffee.

  ‘Mum?’

  ‘Is that you, Quigg?’

  ‘Yes, it’s me, Mum.’

  ‘Maggie and I both liked that young girl you’re going out with.’

  ‘I’m not going out with her, Mum; she’s a police constable, a temporary partner.’

  ‘Well, she was very nice all the same and you should bring her home more often.’

  ‘Talking of home, Mum, tell me what the insurance people said.’

  ‘It was the Merry Widows Mutual, and they said they were sending me a claim form and that it’ll take a month for someone to assess and report on the damage.’

  A red mist descended behind Quigg’s eyes. ‘A bloody claim form? Don’t they accept telephone claims?’

  ‘Apparently not, and don’t swear at your poor old mother, Quigg.’

  ‘I wasn’t swearing at you, Mum. It’s those bloody swindlers at the insurance company. They take your money for years then when you make a claim they make it as difficult as possible for you to get anything back. Where are we supposed to live?’

  ‘I told them what we were doing and they seemed quite happy with that.’

  ‘Well, of course they were bloody happy with it; it’s not costing them anything. What about all our stuff?’

  ‘We have to write an inventory of everything contained in all the rooms, which will be adjusted.’

  ‘Adjusted? What does that mean? Adjusted upwards, sideways, downwards?’ He didn’t really need to ask; he new it meant downwards. ‘They’re a bunch of crooks, Mum. They should all be in prison. We’ll need to get help. We don’t know anything about insurance claims. They’ll take us to the cleaners if we try to do it ourselves. I’ll speak to some people; see if I can find a decent company to represent our interests. Are you OK with that, Mum?’

  ‘You know best, Quigg. I’m too old to be dealing with things like this. It’ll send me to an early grave.’

  ‘The policy is in your name, Mum, so you’ll have to sign the papers. But I’ll get expert help, make sure we get the best.’

  ‘Sometimes, Quigg, I remember why I love you.’

  ‘Thanks, Mum. I love you too.’ He disconnected the call. Next, he phoned Duffy’s number.

  ‘Hello’

  ‘Duffy?’

  ‘Is that you, Sir?’

  ‘Yes, Duffy.’

  ‘You sound really funny on the phone.’

  ‘Thanks for that, Duffy. Well, have you and Cheryl decided what you want?’

  ‘Ben and Jerry’s Chocolate Fudge Brownie ice cream; get two tubs.’

  ‘That’s for desert, Duffy - what about the main course?’ He could hear giggling in the background and wondered whether he was doing the right thing. His whole life had been spent within the boundaries of acceptability. He was thirty-five and had never veered from the straight and narrow. The whole idea of having sex with two beautiful women filled him both with horror and excitement in equal measure, but he knew he would forever regret it if he didn’t do it.

  ‘Have you got a pen and paper?’

  Of course, he should have thought. He scoured his pockets and found paper and a pencil. ‘Shoot.’

  ‘Call in at the Chinese Ming Inn near my flat. We’ll have the meal for two: beef with mushrooms, chicken chop suey, sweet and sour pork and egg fried rice. You can share with us if you want.’

  ‘No thanks - I always have the same: beef with green peppers in black bean sauce.’ He looked at his watch – seven forty-five. ‘I’ll be there about half past eight.’

  ‘Don’t forget the Ben and Jerry’s.’

  The phone went dead.

  What was all the fuss about Ben and Jerry’s?

  He finished the coffee. The guy behind the counter said, ‘Thanks for your custom,’ in a sarcastic tone of voice as Quigg opened the door and stepped outside into the cold December wind. He headed towards East Acton tube station, checking intermittently that no one was following him. He’d done a two-hour workshop at a conference once on following people and how to spot whether they were following you. It didn’t help him the other night, but then he wasn’t looking. Now he was; they’d stand out like hundred-watt bulbs tonight.

  He travelled from East Acton to Notting Hill Gate on the Central Line and from there to East Putney on the District Line. Both trains were quiet and allowed him to switch off for a time. Between Fulham Broadway and Parsons Green it dawned on him what the Ben and Jerry’s ice cream was going to be used for. Desert was the last thing on their minds. He hoped he got his share; he liked chocolate ice cream.

  Chapter Seventeen

  Quigg was glad Duffy hadn’t given him a key to her flat. That would have cranked up what was happening between them, and he was struggling to come to terms with it all. Living for the moment wasn’t really his thing. He liked to plan what he was doing well in advance. No plan, to him, meant lack of control and he knew he wasn’t in control of what was happening to him tonight. If a doctor had been passing and stopped to record Quigg’s blood pressure and heart rate, he’d have been rushed to the hospital. He pushed the speaker button.

  ‘Sir?’

  ‘Are you expecting someone else with Chinese takeaways and two tubs of Ben and Jerry’s ice cream, Duffy?
’

  He heard giggling again. ‘No, Sir.’ The door clicked open.

  He struggled up the two flights of stairs with his shopping and the food. Duffy had already opened the door and was standing waiting for him in a towelling dressing gown. She didn’t appear to be wearing anything underneath. It reminded him of his early days of marriage to Caitlin.

  Once he was in the flat he noticed that Cheryl was also dressed in a towelling dressing gown and also wore nothing underneath. They were obviously ready to start.

  ‘I’m going to eat first, and then I need a shower, OK?’

  They grinned and nodded. Duffy unwrapped the takeaways and spooned the meal for two between two plates for her and Cheryl.

  ‘I’ll do mine,’ Quigg said. ‘You can have my meat if you want it.’

  ‘Don’t you eat meat?’ Cheryl asked. ‘Are you a vegetarian?’

  Quigg tipped the egg fried rice onto a plate, spread it out with a fork, poured the beef with green peppers in black bean sauce on top of it, and then began to laboriously take out the meat and put it back in the plastic tray. ‘No, I just prefer this without the meat.’

  ‘You’re a nut, Sir,’ Duffy said.

  ‘Thanks for that, Duffy. I’ll remember your assessment of my psychological health when I’m writing your annual report.’

  She grinned.

  They were sitting round the kitchen table polishing off the Chinese food. Quigg finished first. He was glad that he’d realised what the ice cream was really for before he made a fool of himself by opening a pot and putting shares into dishes.

  ‘Right, I’m going for a shower, if that’s all right with you, Duffy?’

  ‘You know where it is, Sir.’ Yes, he knew where it was; he’d had a shower this morning. He grabbed his shopping bags and wandered down the corridor to Duffy’s bedroom. Well, tonight it would be everybody’s bedroom. He dumped the bags on the floor, undressed and went into the bathroom opposite.

  With his eyes closed, he massaged his temples beneath the soothing spray of the power shower. As the stresses of the day began to spiral down the drain, he felt hands begin to wash him. They shampooed his hair first then with a soapy froth worked downward. He was the meat and two veg between a Duffy and Cheryl sandwich. His erection was made of granite and the sex was slow and erotic. He ejaculated in each of them, but he was unsure where Duffy ended and Cheryl began. Later, when they were all as clean as newborn babies and powder dry, they went through into the bedroom. Quigg lay between them like a duck between two swans.

  The ice cream had been melting in preparation and Duffy scooped a handful out, applying it liberally to his flaccid penis. He jumped like rain on a hot barbecue, but darting tongues eased the shock.

  A phone rang. He didn’t recognise the ring tone.

  ‘Whose phone is that?’

  With faces smeared in chocolate, and tongues stabbing at his penis like hummingbirds in search of nectar, coherent speech from either of them was impossible. He couldn’t ignore a ringing phone; it was not in his nature. Pushing them off, he slid from the bed and said, ‘Hold that position.’

  He located the phone; it was the one Ruth Lynch had bought for him. He pressed accept. Standing with his back to the bed, he could see his reflection in the wardrobe door full-length mirror. Chocolate caked his groin, dripped off his penis and slithered down his legs. He looked ridiculous.

  ‘Quigg.’

  ‘Quigg, I am in trouble. You must help me.’

  She sounded afraid, her voice strained.

  ‘What’s wrong?’

  ‘Someone is waiting in my flat. I saw them go in.’

  ‘You might have won the lottery.’

  ‘Do not joke, Quigg. They have come to kill me because I am asking questions.’

  ‘Who?’

  ‘You know the people I am talking about.’

  Yes, he knew. But how did the Apostles find out about Ruth Lynch? There was only one person who knew she was helping him. Was the Chief a paedophile? Or was he merely informing on him, getting some extra funds for his retirement? No, he couldn’t believe the Chief would sell him down the river. Hate may be a mutual commodity between them, but the Chief wouldn’t betray him to a group of paedophile killers.

  As he was thinking, he slowly turned. Duffy and Cheryl had carried on without him. Chocolate was splattered everywhere. He desperately wanted some of that chocolate. He hadn’t had any dessert yet.

  ‘You must come and save me, Quigg.’

  ‘What?’

  ‘We are working together, are we not? Now I am in danger. You must come and rescue me.’

  ‘Haven’t you got somewhere else you can go?’

  ‘I am calling you.’

  It seemed he had no choice. What would he do with her if he went to get her? He couldn’t bring her back here. That would be a demonstration of greed, three women in one bed, but...

  ‘Where are you?’

  ‘I am hiding in the bushes in front of Hyde Park, across the road from my flat. I can see him standing at the window. He is waiting to kill me.’

  He could send a squad car round there, arrest the man, and have Ruth taken into protective custody. But arresting the assassin would achieve nothing. He probably knew nothing - merely a messenger. If Quigg had no idea who to trust, putting Ruth in protective custody could get her killed. Someone was informing on him, and until he knew who it was, he couldn’t bring Ruth in.

  He scrabbled in the pockets of his duffel coat that hung on the back of the door and found her card with the address on the back: 1, The Mansion, Ennismore Gardens, Knightsbridge, SW1X 1XX. ‘It’ll take me about an hour to get there.’

  ‘I will wait here shivering for you, Quigg.’

  Disconnecting the call, he returned to the shower and quickly removed the coagulating sticky chocolate, dried himself and returned to the bedroom. Duffy and Cheryl, oblivious to his presence, gorged themselves on Chocolate Fudge Brownie. He desperately wanted to join them, but he forced himself to dress in new clothes. Under his shirt he put on the bullet-proof vest. He went through to the kitchen and found Duffy’s keys on the table. Driving her MGB would be a lot simpler, quicker and safer than taking the tube at ten o’clock at night. Letting himself out, he imagined that Duffy’s bed, with two dripping, slurping goddesses, was preferable than venturing out into a cold December night.

  ***

  He pulled up opposite Ruth’s flat and switched the ignition off. Climbing out, he hissed, ‘Ruth?’

  A vision appeared from behind a clump of bushes. ‘You have come for me?’

  ‘Of course. I said I would, didn’t I? Come on, get in.’

  Climbing back into the car, he leaned across the passenger seat and unlocked the nearside door. As he did so, the window on the driver’s side smashed. Glass flew everywhere. He turned the ignition, but it wouldn’t catch. He felt thuds hitting the paintwork of Duffy’s MGB, and knew he had very little time. He glanced up at the building opposite and saw a man in a second-storey window taking aim with a handgun. The passenger door was open and Ruth squatted in the gap, unsure whether to climb in or not. He tried the ignition again, but it still wouldn’t catch. Realising that a bullet must have hit the engine, he clambered across the gear stick, handbrake and passenger seat and onto the pavement next to Ruth Lynch. Taking her hand, he hunched down and dragged her behind a parked Toyota Rav 4 parked in front of Duffy’s MGB. The MGB was far too small for two people to hide behind, and the soft-top gave no protection at all. Bullets peppered the Toyota. He couldn’t see anything through the smoked windows.

  ‘What are we going to do, Quigg?’

  He looked around. If they went left or right, the shooter would pick them off like ducks in the fairground. They would have to go into the park, make it to the other side, disappear.

  ‘We’ll climb over the wall and hide in the park.’

  ‘I will never be able to climb over the wall.’

  ‘I’ll help you.’

  They darted behind
a large oak tree that protected them momentarily from the gunfire. It was only when Ruth lifted her foot to be helped over the wall that he noticed she wore high-heeled shoes and a dress. He took hold of the shoe that was offered and broke off the heel. ‘Give me the other one,’ he said.

  ‘What are you doing, Quigg? These shoes cost me a thousand pounds.’

  ‘Is that how much your life is worth?’

  She lifted her other foot up. He broke off that heel as well. ‘Face the wall and put your hands up.’ She was so light he nearly threw her over the top of the wall. He felt a stabbing pain beneath his cast, but he had no time to concern himself with it. He followed her, grasping the top of the wall and pulling himself up. Through the darkness, he could barely make out what lay beneath them. He had no time to think about the dangers of jumping into the unknown because he felt a thud in his left lower back which pushed him over the wall. Pain radiated outwards and took his breath away, but there was no time to think about what injury he might have sustained. Ruth landed beside him. Grabbing her arm, he led her through the bushes to their right. Hearing someone scrambling up the wall behind him he knew they could never outrun the assassin. He would have to stop the pursuit here and now.

  He whispered for her to crouch behind a bush and keep quiet, then circled back to where the man had jumped over the wall and was standing listening.

  Quigg heard the magazine being ejected from his handgun and knew a full one would soon take its place. There might never be a better time to attack the assassin than the present. He ran towards the man, taking him by surprise. The force of his running dive ploughed the man back into the wall with a thud, and he went quiet and slumped to the ground. Quigg checked the man’s pulse. He was still alive. Then he heard someone calling out on the other side of the wall.

  ‘Hey, John...Did you get them?’

  Quigg took the man’s gun and two full magazines that he discovered in the jacket pocket. He searched, but found nothing else in any of the man’s other clothes.