by Tim Ellis
‘It’s your decision. So, do you want me to take Lily Rose and Dylan for a couple of weeks?’
‘I could open the shop full time, get my life back on track.’
‘Ruth and Duffy will come round tomorrow to collect them.’
‘Thanks.’
He stood up. ‘I have to visit my partner in hospital now.’
‘Is she okay?’
‘She will be in time.’
Edie let him kiss her on the cheek, and then he left.
***
‘What are you doing?’ Walsh said, opening her eyes and pushing herself up.
‘You were sleeping with your mouth open. There was some dribble running down your chin. I was merely wiping it off.’
‘You’re lying?’
‘You were snoring as well.’
‘Now I know you’re lying.’
‘If you don’t believe me, ask the seven-piece band that has just left. They were using your snores to keep the beat.’
She laughed. ‘You should walk round and cheer the other patients up.’
‘I save all my best material for you. So, tell me what’s been happening?’
‘The specialist – Dawn Cothay – arrived from America...’
‘I thought it was a he?’
‘You know what thought did.’
‘Followed a muck cart and thought it was a wedding?’
‘No, he thought his bum was hanging out of bed so he got out to push it back in again.’
‘Your mum knew a different saying from my mum.’
He saw a cloud cross Walsh’s face. ‘What happened to make you and your mum hate each other?’
She looked away. Tears welled in her eyes. ‘My dad used to come into my bedroom. She knew, but did nothing to stop him.’
He took her hand in his and squeezed it. ‘I’m sorry, Walsh.’
‘So am I, Sir. They took my childhood away from me.’
‘You didn’t let it hold you back though.’
‘I left home at sixteen and I haven’t been back since.’
‘What about your father?’
‘He died five years ago. I never went to his funeral.’
‘Let’s put it back in the past where it belongs,’ he said. ‘So, this Dawn Cothay has arrived?’
‘She’s had me doing exercises already.’
‘You mean like push-ups, sit-ups and pelvic floor exercises?’
She laughed. ‘What do you know about pelvic floor exercises?’
‘Not a damned thing. I heard Duffy talking about them.’
‘I’m clenching my leg muscle. She says that patients normally just lie in bed and do nothing for six weeks. Then, when they do try to exercise it’s that much harder because the muscle has wasted away.’
‘Muscle wastage is not good,’ he said with great authority.
‘So, I’m clenching every fifteen minutes or so, and she’s told me she’ll come in twice a day to put me through a series of exercises that will help me heal that much faster.’
‘Excellent. You’ll be able to run the one hundred metres in less than ten seconds soon.'
‘That would be a significant improvement, because I couldn’t even run one hundred metres in ten minutes before.’
‘There you are then, it’ll all be worthwhile. What about the stem cell treatment?’
‘I’m having injections in my wound. If you think you’ve experienced pain, you haven’t. It’s like someone jiggling a red-hot poker around in my leg.’
‘The common consensus is that there’s no gain without pain.’
‘Only idiots say that, Sir.’
‘I’m glad I never said it then.’
‘What’s happening with the case?’
He told her about the four suspects they’d obtained from personnel at Charing Cross, that they’d eliminated three of them from their enquiries, and still had one to see.
‘Oh yes, and let me tell you about what Perkins found. You can’t tell anybody though.’
He gave her the details of the creatures he’d seen.
‘This is a really interesting case. So, they’re going to burn everything in that hole?’
‘Yes, and when you think about it, it’s the only logical course of action.’
‘Don’t you think they deserve to live?’
‘They eat human flesh.’
‘Maybe they just need re-integrating back into society.’
Quigg laughed. ‘You sound like a bloody politician. Anyway, I’m going to love you and leave you. Keep your chin up, you’ll soon be back in the saddle.’
‘I’ve never been in a saddle before, so that’ll be a first as well.’
‘Don’t start that again, Walsh.’
Chapter Twenty
Wednesday 30th May
‘In five minutes you’ll have a choice – toast and coffee in the kitchen, or a drenching with iced water if you stay in bed.’
‘Not again,’ Ruth said turning over.
‘After the sacrifices I’ve made for you,’ Duffy moaned.
It had been ten to eleven when he’d crawled into bed with Duffy. She’d been hot like a jacket potato without the jacket. He snuggled in naked behind her. As always, they fitted together like two jigsaw pieces. He wrapped his left arm around the bump that used to be her waist, but the hand began to stray upwards of its own accord.
‘What are you doing, Sir?’
‘Something has come over me, Duffy.’
‘You’re not going to...? Sir!’
‘Sorry, Duffy. You’re just too hot.’
‘I am hot, aren’t I? Really hot... and you like it when I’m hot, don’t you, Sir?’
It had been after midnight when he finally got to sleep, but he had still woken up at five o’clock – shaved, showered, and dressed ready for work.
‘I’m gonna fucking kill you in your sleep, Quigg,’ Lucy exploded, and chased him out of the Chapel with a baseball bat. Where had she got a baseball bat?
They all appeared within five minutes at the breakfast table in various states of undress.
‘You’ll be investigating your own death if you keep waking me up at six-thirty in the morning,’ Lucy advised him. ‘Get home earlier if you want to meet with me.’
‘It’s been difficult these last couple of days. What with having to visit Walsh in the hospital, finding out about Edie giving birth to those two children, and other things.’
‘What other things?’ Duffy said.
‘Taking on a new partner, organising the security of this place, trying to find two killers, getting rid of Monica and DS Jones...’
‘What?’
He told them what had happened.
‘And the Chief sacked both of them?’ Duffy asked.
‘Yes. What other choice did he have?’
Lucy stuffed a triangle of buttered toast in her mouth and then said, ‘And what juicy bits of information did he find in Kline’s file?’
‘I’m sorry, I’m not going to tell you that.’
‘Come on, Quigg. I’ll make it worth your while,’ she said, fluttering her eyelashes.
‘No.’
‘I’m not sure that making Sergeant Jones into an enemy was a good idea,’ Duffy said.
Quigg shrugged. ‘He’s history, don’t worry about him.’
‘Why are we here at this time of the morning?’ Ruth asked.
‘You and Duffy need to go to Edie’s at about ten o’clock to collect Lily Rose and Dylan and bring them back here. I offered to give her a break for two weeks.’
Lucy stared at him; her eyes wide open like a red-eyed tree frog. ‘Two babies here?’
‘Yes.’
‘For two friggin’ weeks?’
‘My children don’t forget.’
‘I don’t fucking care. I hate babies. If I find them anywhere near my computers I’ll flush them down the toilet.’
Duffy laughed. ‘They’re two months old, and they can’t walk or crawl.’
‘I’m just saying. I don�
�t want anybody wondering where the rug rats are when the toilets get blocked.’
‘Very amusing,’ Quigg said. ‘Tell me what’s happening with the Apostles?’
‘The Romanian children are on their way.’
‘And we’re tracking them?’
‘By satellite.’
‘What about getting Springfield here?’
‘You’ve got a death wish, haven’t you?’
‘I don’t want anything to go wrong. We have this one chance to get the Apostles, so make sure everything is airtight. As far as I’m concerned, it wouldn’t hurt to have her here until it’s over.’
‘I’ll do it for you, but you’ll owe me.’
‘I owe all of you, but when it’s over...’
‘When it’s over there’ll be something else,’ Duffy said. ‘There’ll always be something else with you, Sir.’
He smiled. ‘We’ll work something out.’
‘Also, they tried to transfer £50,000 to a numbered account in Liechtenstein.’
‘What for?’
Lucy shrugged. ‘Don’t know.’
‘Langham’s the key to this. What about hacking into his phone?’
‘Okay, I’ll call in Springfield. If you had your way I’d be working a hundred hours a day, and then you’d want to shag me.’
‘Good. Let’s do it right, and get these people behind bars.’
‘I know it’s not until tomorrow night, but who are we going to tell?’ Duffy said.
‘Vice at Hammersmith, of course, but they’ll have to liase with Maidstone Vice Squad. Send all the details anonymously to DCI Joanna Blake at Hammersmith at five this evening. That should wake some people up. Make it clear that they’re not to go in until after midnight tomorrow night, and to look for a secret underground complex.’
‘What if they do not take what we send them seriously?’ Ruth asked.
‘Tomorrow morning, when everyone’s had time to verify the information, I’ll speak to the Chief. He already knows something is going on. I’ll tell him everything now that we’re close to putting the Apostles away for good. He’ll make sure Vice take it seriously.’
‘What of the press?’ Ruth asked.
‘It’s meant to be Emma Potter’s exclusive,’ Quigg said. ‘She was following Langham and we haven’t heard from her since last Friday.’ He shook his head. ‘She must have got too close to Langham. If she’s still alive she’ll be in the Sevenoaks complex. Send an alert to every media outlet at eleven-thirty tomorrow night. We don’t want them turning up to the party too soon and spoiling things, do we? Oh, and send a copy of what we send to Maidstone to DI Pete Raven at Surrey Vice Squad – I probably owe him one after the Surrey fiasco.’
‘And the money?’ Duffy wanted to know.
‘We’re taking it all. There’ll be no trace back to us – will there Lucy?’
‘Absolutely not.’
‘I know you said you would give it all to Children’s Charities,’ Ruth said, ‘but it would not hurt to keep five million just in case you ever need it again for just this type of eventuality.’
‘There’s certainly enough of the fucking stuff to go round,’ Lucy said.
‘I’m not happy about keeping money that doesn’t belong to me,’ Quigg said.
‘You’re not keeping it for yourself,’ Duffy said. ‘If it weren’t for what we’re doing, who would save the Romanian children? There might be other times when we need to work around the law, and we need money to do that.’
‘Hide it away, but there’ll be no dipping into it for shopping trips to buy new outfits, shoes or handbags.’
‘Have you seen any of that crap in my fucking wardrobe, Quigg?’
‘I was referring to Ruth and Duffy.’
‘Oh, you don’t think I could wear...?’
‘Right, I’m going to work. Any questions?’
***
He pulled into the station car park at eight thirty-five and remained sitting in his car while he phoned Kline.
‘Are you lost, Sir?’
‘I’m in the car park.’
‘Do you need help getting up the stairs?’
‘I’m not coming up. You come down here and we’ll get off.’
‘Oh! Okay.’
After a couple of minutes Kline appeared. He climbed out of his Mercedes and said, ‘Where’s the pool car?’
‘I haven’t got one yet.’
‘I’ll walk to the garage with you.’
‘You can’t come in. If you come in they won’t give me a car.’
‘I’ll hide round the corner until you drive out.’
‘Okay.’
They walked along King Street.
‘How are you feeling this morning?’ he asked her.
‘You have to stop asking me how I’m feeling. Forget you ever heard what happened to me. What’s done is done and nothing can ever change that.’
‘And the future?’
‘I do a day at a time, that’s how I manage.’
‘What if we could catch those responsible?’
She was quiet for a time. ‘It would be too tempting.’
‘What do you mean?’
‘Let’s say we got all five of them – then what? I’d have to go to court and testify. They’d probably get a three-week holiday in the Bahamas for destroying my life. Or, they’d get off with it because it was too long ago, and now there’s not enough evidence. Or, the clothes I was wearing made it appear as if I was asking for it, so it was actually my fault they raped me. Or, they all had alibis... No, I couldn’t go through all that. It would be too tempting just to kill the bastards if I found out who they were.’
He’d had the idea of bringing her rapists to justice, but what was justice these days? Five men had destroyed a young girl’s life, and if they’d been caught they would probably have got five years. Five years would turn into two with time off for good behaviour, and they’d be out in society again – having paid for their crime – but they hadn’t paid, had they? The rapists and the victim knew they hadn’t paid for their crime. Justice was often like a festering sore that would never heal.
‘Right, you wait here while I get the car,’ Kline said. ‘I’ll be out in a minute with a shiny new mean machine.’
‘We’re not participants in Death Race 2000, you know.’
She tossed her head. ‘Speak for yourself.’
Although he hated to admit it, he was getting to like Tallie Kline. He didn’t want to. Walsh was his partner, but now that he’d scraped off the crusty exterior Kline was a woman who needed to be loved. Not in a sexual way – that was a jar of jellybeans he wouldn’t like to open – but as a human being, as a partner.
There was a beep. Kline was sitting in a Porsche Boxter revving it up as if she was in pole position on the grid at the Brazilian Grand Prix.
He climbed in, and thought he was sitting on the road because the seat was so low. ‘How in hell’s name did you get this? I didn’t even know they had cars like this for signing out.’
‘I told them it was my birthday and I needed cheering up. They had this hiding under a tarpaulin, but I found it.’
There was a screech and the smell of burning rubber as she went from nought to sixty in minus five seconds. Now he knew what it would be like to leave Earth’s atmosphere – the G-force on his face made his teeth ache.
‘You’re crazy, Kline.’
‘You better believe it, Mister. Where are we going by the way?’
‘We’re half way to Scotland and now you ask. Pull over, let’s plot the day out.’
She pulled into a bus stop. When she braked he nearly went through the windscreen.
‘Okay... stop revving it, and switch the engine off. Maybe I should drive?’
‘Maybe you should throw yourself under a bus.’
‘First, we’ll go and see Margaret Wilcockson’s brother and next of kin - Vivian Westwood.’ He passed her the piece of paper with the address on it that Doc Inglehart had given him, and she keyed it
into the satnav. Then, we’ll visit Flannery Ship at Lister Hospital on Chelsea Bridge Road. Last, we’ll go to the Ten Bells pub in Spitalfields.’
She switched the engine back on, did a handbrake turn across King Street, and headed towards Fulham Palace Road.
‘We’re not going to survive the day, are we?’
‘Sit back and enjoy.’ She was weaving through traffic, mounting the pavement, pressing the horn at every opportunity and shouting out of the side window.
‘Get out of the way, you fucking moron.’
‘This isn’t Sunday, you fucking wanker.’
‘Shove it up your arse.’
Quigg grabbed hold of anything he could find. ‘What the hell’s wrong with you, Kline?’
‘Wrong? Nothing’s wrong. This is how I normally drive.’
‘And you passed the advanced course?’
‘Oh, I toned it down a bit for that. The Instructor thought I was going to shag him afterwards.’ She laughed. ‘When he gave me my certificate I kneed him in the bollocks – fucking bastard. He couldn’t do anything about it because he knew I would have reported him, or cut his dick off.’
‘No wonder people think you’re a crazy bitch.’
They came to a stop outside 15 Perrymead Street in Fulham, and Quigg thought they’d hit a brick wall.
‘I’m thinking of taking the tube to our other destinations.’
‘Do you want me to slow down a bit?’
‘Yes please.’
‘All you had to do was ask.’
Perrymead Street was the same as Chipstead Street to the left and Bowerdean Street to the right. Houses were squashed together as if they were the green plastic pieces on a Monopoly board.
They knocked at Number 15. A man with curly blonde hair wearing a lime green shirt and a shiny multi-coloured waistcoat answered the door.
‘Hello, lovey.’
Quigg showed his warrant card. ‘We’d like to ask you some questions about your sister Margaret Wilcockson, if that would be okay?’
‘Of course, lovey. You’d better come in. I can see the net curtains twitching already. Although... I’m sure I don’t know what I can possibly tell you about Margie seeing as I haven’t seen her for... Ooh, I’d say at least ten years.’
Quigg cringed, and wondered why some gay men felt it necessary to act like caricatures of themselves.
