The Corpse in Highgate Cemetery: (Quigg 8)

by Tim Ellis

  ‘You’re coming in, aren’t you?’ she slurred.

  ‘I wasn’t . . .’

  ‘Of course you are.’ She clung onto him as he helped her out of the passenger seat and up the path to her front door. She giggled ‘I seem to have forgotten where my keys are.’

  He found the front door key in her handbag. While he was opening the door she passed out, and he had to carry her into her bedroom using a fireman’s lift. Seeing as it was his fault she was in this condition, and because it was fairly late, he decided to stay and make sure she was all right.

  Chapter Six

  ‘And then, of course, there’s the Satanic Cult,’ Noah continued as they headed back to the old chapel that was masquerading as the administrative building for Highgate Cemetery.

  Quigg’s brow furrowed. ‘Satanic Cult?’

  ‘Oh yes, Inspector. I’ve never actually seen the evidence myself, but there are stories. Even before the Catholic girls there was the Satanic Cult. It all started with them, you see. They raised the Wallachian Vampire King from the dead.’

  ‘Which you don’t believe?’ Dwyer said.

  ‘As I said earlier, I have an open mind on the subject.’

  ‘Go on?’ Quigg said.

  ‘They call themselves Lilith’s Children, at least that’s what I’ve heard.’

  ‘Is that it?’

  ‘Absolutely not. Apparently, they hold bizarre ceremonies that includes cooking babies in a microwave oven, killing sheep and drinking their blood, and sexually abusing children . . .’

  ‘Where do they get the electricity for the microwave?’ Dwyer interrupted.

  ‘Don’t shoot the messenger,’ Noah said. ‘I’m only telling you what I’ve heard. Unless, of course, you’re not interested? You’d never hear Mr Mulhern talk about the Satanists, that’s for sure.’

  ‘Yes, we’re interested,’ Quigg reassured him. ‘You say you’ve never seen any evidence of a Satanic Cult – why is that?’

  ‘The stories tell of sacrifices on the altars in the underground tunnels . . .’

  ‘What underground tunnels? Nobody’s mentioned anything about underground tunnels before.’ He turned to Dwyer. ‘Do you know anything about underground tunnels, Sergeant?’

  ‘Not a thing.’

  ‘Vague whisperings,’ Noah said. ‘That’s all I’ve heard myself. Mutterings, mumblings and innuendo. Nothing substantial that I could put my finger on.’

  ‘Where are these underground tunnels?’

  ‘Well . . . underground.’

  ‘No, I mean where in the cemetery?’

  ‘All over apparently, but access to them is through the crypt, or so I’ve heard.’

  ‘I just knew it would be there. Have you seen this door? Opened it up? Been down into the tunnels?’

  ‘You are joking, aren’t you, Inspector?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘I haven’t even been in the crypt. Oh, I’ve seen the crypt from the outside like most people. Walked past it and wondered why they have doorways, but going inside . . . ? No, they don’t pay me enough for that. In fact, they hardly pay me at all.’

  ‘Has anyone that you know ever been inside?’

  ‘No. People aren’t allowed inside. I mean, it has dead bodies in there, or so I’m told. I’ve never seen the dead bodies you understand, but that’s what a crypt is for, isn’t it?’

  ‘I suppose so. And, of course, access to the underground tunnels?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘And what does this access point look like?’

  ‘No idea.’

  ‘Is it an open doorway leading to concrete steps? Maybe there’s a lift down to the tunnels? What about a gate . . .’

  ‘One of the gateways to hell?’

  ‘You’re not being very helpful, Sergeant.’

  ‘Merely a suggestion, Sir. I think we should consider all the available options.’

  ‘A gateway to hell is hardly a sensible suggestion.’

  ‘If you say so.’

  ‘I do.’

  They arrived back at the cemetery main gate.

  Quigg parked up.

  ‘Thanks for your help, Mr Hanneck.’

  ‘Glad I could be of assistance, Inspector.’ He shook hands with both of them and wandered off.

  He checked his watch. It was five-past four. ‘We’re running late, Sergeant.’

  ‘Back to the station?’ Dwyer suggested.

  ‘Not at all. I’d like to make sure uniform are guarding the crime scene, and then we’ll drive over to the hospital and find out what Doc Solberg discovered during the post-mortem.’

  They retraced their steps through the cemetery to the Circle of Lebanon.

  ‘Couldn’t the post-mortem report wait until tomorrow?’

  ‘Everything could wait until tomorrow if we put our shared minds to it, but I prefer to do it today. Unless, of course, you have other plans? In which case, I could drop you off at the underground and you could return to the station from there. Do you have other plans, Dwyer?’

  ‘If I have, they can wait.’

  ‘I’m glad to hear it.’

  There were two uniforms doing a mini sightseeing tour around the Circle of Lebanon.

  ‘Constables Linda Odell and Bob Godbold if I’m not mistaken,’ Quigg said.

  ‘Yes, Sir,’ Odell said with a knowing smile.

  He remembered her. She’d been one of the three female officers who had caught him hiding fully-clothed in the shower cubicle in the female changing room during his nocturnal sortie to find the marking criteria for the Inspector’s Chart that he was supposedly bottom of, but now knew was all a wind-up. The three of them had forced him to satisfy their carnal desires. He’d been seduced, flimflammed and hoodwinked. Well, payback – for Linda Odell at least – was staring him in the face.

  ‘You know what’s expected of you?’ he said.

  Godbold spoke up. ‘We’re here to guard the crime scene, Sir.’

  ‘That’s right.’

  ‘We’re not very happy about it though,’ Odell said.

  ‘Is that right, Odell? And what exactly aren’t you happy about?’

  ‘Well, standing in the middle of a cemetery in the dark all night. Heaven knows what’s in here.’

  ‘There are dead bodies in here.’

  ‘Is it all right if we light a fire, Sir?’ Godbold said.

  ‘A fire?’

  ‘Yes. For the light, to keep us warm and you know . . . to ward off any unwanted creatures.’

  ‘Creatures! I take it you’re referring to animals?’

  ‘Of course, Sir. What other type of creatures would there be in the cemetery?’

  ‘What indeed? No, no fire. You’re not manning a picket line. And not only that, this is a National Heritage site, Godbold. Imagine if you will a nice hot brazier. The pair of you are standing round it rubbing your hands together and warming your cockles. There are a couple of enormous King Edward jacket potatoes in silver foil doing very nicely in the coals, thank you. Odell has just returned from the 24-hour Mart with a selection of toppings – baked beans, cheese, coleslaw, coronation chicken and maybe some prawn salad . . . but wait, the wind is whipping up, red-hot sparks are being blown all over the cemetery, a few small fires begin, which are the start of the conflagration. You run for your lives. Fire crews from all over London arrive. Once the disaster is brought under control there’s a post-mortem. Blame needs to be apportioned, and to save your own singed skins you both point burnt fingers in my direction . . . Wear your thermals – especially you, Odell.’

  Odell’s eyes narrowed. ‘Is this about . . . ?’

  ‘This is about you following orders, Odell. Are we clear on that point?’

  ‘Yes, Sir.’

  ‘Good. Have an enjoyable night. And stay out of the crypt.’

  ‘Why?’ Odell said. ‘What’s in the crypt?

  ‘I’m sure they’re just stories. Come on, Sergeant. We have places to go and people to see.’

  They began walki
ng back to the main entrance.

  ‘No wonder people don’t like you, Quigg,’ Dwyer said.

  ‘I find that hard to believe.’

  It took them forty minutes to reach the mortuary at Hammersmith Hospital.

  Doc Solberg was just about to leave. ‘You’re an hour late, Quigg.’

  ‘Sorry, Doc. We got tied up.’

  ‘I’ll give you the key findings. After that, you’ll just have to read the report for yourself.’

  ‘That’ll be fine.’

  ‘We still don’t know who the woman is. Here’s what we do know: She had never given birth, but she’d had an abortion in the last six weeks. Also, she had sex before she was killed. Not with one person, but up to twelve people, and there’s no evidence that she was sexually assaulted. We found traces of sperm in her throat, her anus and her vagina. There were no DNA matches on the database. Her blood alcohol content was two hundred and twenty-three, which means that she would have suffered severe motor impairment, loss of consciousness and memory blackout.’

  ‘She was seriously pissed?’ Dwyer said.

  ‘Most definitely. Her last meal was a strawberry yoghurt twelve hours earlier. The sample of fluid we took from around the puncture wounds was unable to be identified.’

  Quigg pulled a face. ‘What does that mean?’

  ‘Exactly what I say. We think it is a virus, but the DNA and RNA profiles of that specific virus are not held on the GENBANK database. We have sent the sample to the Centre for Disease Control. It is very important that we identify the virus, so that we can find out where it comes from, how it is spread, and what can be done to combat it.’

  ‘How long before we know what it is?’

  ‘Sometimes viruses can be quickly identified by serology, or a new technique called polymerase chain reaction – PCR. But new viruses may take months – possibly up to a year – to identify.’

  ‘A year! We don’t have a year, Doc.’

  ‘I am sorry, Quigg. It is the best I can do.’

  ‘You think it’s a vampire virus, don’t you?’

  ‘I do not know. All I can say is that it appears to be what killed the young woman.’

  ‘Killed her how?’

  ‘Massive organ failure.’

  ‘Isn’t a vampire virus meant to make you one of the immortals?’

  Doc Solberg shrugged. ‘I have not studied many vampire viruses.’

  ‘Not many! You mean none?’

  ‘Possibly.’

  ‘Definitely. So you have no idea who the woman is, or what killed her?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘What about the puncture wounds – were they made by teeth?’

  ‘Incisors - yes.’

  ‘But not necessarily teeth that were inside someone’s mouth?’

  ‘I suppose you could say that.’

  ‘I am saying that. Did you find an ultraviolet stamp on her hand or arm?’

  ‘No . . .’

  ‘Shame. We could have done with a break.’

  ‘It wasn’t on her hand or arm, it was on her ankle.’

  ‘I see. And . . . ?’

  ‘LC.’

  ‘Don’t tell me – Lilith’s Children?’

  ‘You have heard of it?’

  ‘Not the club, but the name came up earlier today.’

  Doc Solberg’s eyes lit up. ‘Lilith is the mother of vampires, you know. She gave birth to the first vampires.’

  ‘You say it, as if there is such a person named Lilith and creatures called vampires. They’re myths, stories to frighten little children – not real, Doc.’

  ‘We will see, Quigg. Anyway, The LC Club is for members only. It is located on Deacons Rise just off the A1 near Lyttelton Playing Fields.’

  ‘Thanks, Doc. At least we have a lead now. What about blood loss?’

  ‘As I suspected. Approximately half of her blood was missing.’

  ‘Missing! What does that mean?’

  ‘I can only imagine that it was drained from her body through the puncture wounds. If you recall, drops of blood were found on the wounds.

  They made their way back out to the car park.

  ‘You think the Satanists will cooperate?’ Dwyer said when they reached the car.

  ‘You’ll think of something, Sergeant.’

  ‘Me?’

  ‘I don’t see why not. Up to now you’ve contributed nothing . . . In fact, less than nothing to this investigation. Your whole approach has been underpinned by negativity, and tomorrow I expect you to shape up or ship out.’

  ‘Just when I was forgetting how much I dislike you as well.’

  ‘Really?’

  ‘No. You know about the Inspector’s chart, don’t you?’

  ‘I know it’s a wind-up.’

  ‘Yeah, we tell people that to give them a false sense of hope.’

  ‘I’m not going to take the bait, Dwyer. And even if the chart really exists, I’m not at the bottom anymore.’

  She laughed. ‘Your sexual exploits in the shower moved you up the chart for a couple of hours, but that didn’t last long. You’ve dropped back down to the bottom again.’

  ‘I don’t know what you’re talking about.’

  ‘The girls talk, you know.’

  ‘What are you trying to say, Dwyer?’

  ‘I’m not trying to say anything. It’s a fact that you’re at least five points adrift of your nearest rival – Inspector Singh – and you’re languishing at the bottom of the chart again like a complete loser.’

  ‘I don’t see how that can possibly be right, Sergeant. I mean, I’m a reasonably good Inspector.’

  ‘The chart says otherwise, Sir.’

  ***

  She sat down on the floor again. What was the point in standing up. If the rats were going to eat her, then she may as well be comfortable while they did it. She’d read somewhere that they went for the wet fleshy parts of a human – the eyes, the nose, the mouth . . . She was just glad she was wearing her jeans.

  Now what?’

  She had a thirteen-piece puzzle and very little light to complete it by. If she didn’t get beyond this wall, then it wouldn’t matter how much light she had. So she had to use the resources she had now to complete the puzzle and move forward, or die trying. Although, she didn’t particularly want to die just yet. Fuck’s sake! She was only twenty-two – hardly the blink of an eye in the scheme of things.

  Where was Quigg when she needed him? Probably sitting at home with his feet up watching television, and being waited-on foot-and-mouth by Duffy and Ruth. And the kids would be playing with their toys on the rug smelling like shit wouldn’t melt in their mouths. God! She missed them. Why did she ever leave? It was Quigg’s fault. It was always Quigg’s fault. She was going to make him suffer when – if – she got back home.

  She turned on the tablet. There was an hour and fifteen minutes of battery-life left. After quickly copying the exit route out of the maze onto a piece of paper and sliding it into her pocket, she began trying to complete the puzzle.

  It was fucking hard.

  But wasn’t she meant to be a genius? Of course, that was her own assessment of her Intelligence Quotient, but what the fuck? Genius is as genius does.

  Usually, a puzzle came already completed, then the person had to take it apart and put it back together again. But this one had already been taken apart. Although, she had a pretty good idea that the finished puzzle should be a 3-inch cube.

  It didn’t help her that none of the pieces were the same. After examining a few of the larger shapes she realised that some of the sides on a block were different from others, and imagined that they must be the outer edges. This was a serious clue, a shoe-in, a strategy that she didn’t possess before. She began trying to fit the pieces together applying this new approach, with the different edges on the outside of the cube.

  Eventually, the puzzle began taking shape. It wasn’t easy, but then it wasn’t meant to be. She imagined that, based on the six degrees of difficulty for puzzl
es, this particular fucking puzzle was number six – for geniuses, as opposed to number one, which was for pathetically stupid people – like Quigg. Yes, Quigg was just such a person. He hadn’t seen her falling in love with him. But then, neither had she.

  There! She’d assembled the cube. She was a fucking genius, but then she already knew that. She stood up and slotted the metal block into the hole – nothing happened.

  ‘You’d better be fucking joking,’ she said, taking the cube out and trying it in the opening every which way.

  Nothing happened.

  The wall didn’t move.

  Then she saw a small circular hole in one of the bricks to the right of the cube that she hadn’t noticed before.

  She picked up the tablet, and pointed the light into the one-inch deep hole. There was a strange design engraved into the base of it.

  ‘What the fuck?’

  The battery-life failed on the tablet.

  Everything went black.

  ‘I’M GOING TO FUCKING KILL YOU WHEN I GET OUT OF HERE,’ she screamed into the darkness.

  ***

  Tuesday, September 2

  ‘Rodney?’

  He was dreaming of Sandrine. For some strange reason, she was walking a tightrope over Niagara Falls naked, and he was balancing on the twisted steel wire lay on his back dressed in a spandex bathing suit and gripping the wire as hard as he could with the cheeks of his arse.

  ‘Rodney?’

  He opened his eyes.

  After finding that the second bedroom contained medical equipment, and that there were still stained sheets on the bed, he’d decided to sleep on the two-seater sofa covered over with a blanket. It wasn’t comfortable, not comfortable at all. So he’d rolled onto the floor and slept there.

  ‘Hello?’

  It was Lola dressed in a flower design wrap-around cotton dressing gown. She slipped her hand in his. ‘Come with me.’

  ‘What time is it?’

  ‘Half-past two.’

  ‘In the morning?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Where are we going at this time of night?’

  ‘To bed.’

  ‘Have you changed the sheets?’