The Enigma of Apocalypse Heights: (Quigg #7) Page 4

‘I don’t think . . .’ but it was too late.

  She had his head in a vice-like grip and her mouth smothered his.

  He thought his tongue was going to be sucked from his head and replaced by hers. When he started to gag and feel faint she let him go. Without the structural support he nearly collapsed in a heap on the floor.

  ‘Not bad for an amateur,’ she said, dabbing at the dribbles of saliva around her mouth with the corner of her apron.

  ‘I have to go, but thank you for your hospitality and an interesting lunch.’

  ‘The pleasure was all mine.’

  As he pulled the door closed behind him, he was sure he heard mocking laughter.

  ***

  Constable Louise had been replaced by a tall thin angular-faced officer, who had a nose like a beak, a variety of different sized hairy moles on her face and neck, and a uniform that was far too big, which made her look like a skeleton that had been dressed up by students for a jest.

  ‘Louise on her break now?’ he asked.

  ‘Yes, Sir.’

  ‘And you are?’

  ‘Constable Tabby Byrd.’

  ‘Interesting surname.’

  She smiled, revealing crooked teeth. ‘It was originally used as a nickname for someone who could sing like a bird.’

  ‘Can you sing like a bird?’

  ‘No, Sir.’

  ‘I see. What can you tell me about the chart, Byrd?’

  ‘Chart, Sir? You mean the music chart?’

  ‘You know exactly which chart I mean.’

  ‘I’m sure I have no idea, Sir.’

  ‘Stand up straight, Byrd. Don’t think you can slouch outside one of my crime scenes.’

  She jumped to attention. ‘No, Sir.’

  As he walked back into the flat, he got the impression that he wasn’t making much headway with the chart. Yes, he’d worked out what one of the categories represented, but what about the other four? He’d moved up a couple of places, but if he didn’t find out how to get more points he’d slip back down and end up on the bottom again. As interesting as having sex with three women in a shower was, he couldn’t imagine himself doing that on a regular basis.

  ‘Perkins?’

  ‘Yes, Sir?’ came from the living room.

  ‘What time is it?’

  ‘Sorry, my watch has stopped.’

  ‘Anybody else got the time?’ he asked, raising his voice slightly.

  Nobody answered.

  ‘That’s what happens, you know.’

  Quigg’s forehead creased up. ‘What are you going on about, Perkins?’

  ‘It’s the radiation and electromagnetic interference that sends everything haywire. You see it in films on the television a lot – cars stop, light bulbs explode, computer motherboards get fried . . .’

  ‘If you’re talking about aliens again . . .’

  ‘You’re in denial, Inspector. Earlier you said I was a man of science – you’re right, I am. It would be folly to think that we’re the only intelligent beings in the universe. Not only are they out there, but they’re here as well. All the evidence points to us not being alone.’

  ‘Evidence! What evidence?’

  ‘Forget the government conspiracy for the moment. There’s a whole catalogue of UFOs recorded throughout human history; there are documented cases of astronauts having seen UFOs; then there’s the WOW signal from an empty spot in space, which was recorded by the Big Ear telescope at Ohio State University in 1977; there’s the 2001 Drake equation, which suggests that there are hundreds of thousands of life-bearing planets in the galaxy; and the 2003 SETI signal . . .’

  ‘You’re crazy, Perkins. Right, I’m going to start searching for evidence of . . . Oh! I didn’t bring you up to date, did I? With you rambling on about aliens I forgot to tell you about Safari Tremaine who lives in the flat directly beneath this one.’

  ‘What about her?’

  ‘She phoned it in. Blood ran through the gaps around the pipes in this bathroom into her bathroom. At one fifteen this morning she heard chanting . . .’

  ‘Chanting?’

  ‘Yes. Half a dozen of them, apparently. They were chanting “Name her,” or something along those lines.’

  ‘Why would they chant something like that?’

  ‘Next time I see a Satanist I’ll ask them.’

  ‘Mmmm.’

  Perkins’ phone started playing a song by Pink.

  ‘What the hell’s that noise Perkins?’

  ‘Is it for me?’

  ‘Who would want to phone you?’ He accepted the call. ‘Quigg?’

  ‘You took your time,’ Kline said.

  ‘Perkins was waffling on about aliens. So, have you got some news for me?’

  ‘The lift’s working.’

  ‘Okay, I’ll meet you outside.’

  He ended the call.

  ‘I’m going to retrieve Kline from wherever she’s been.’

  ‘You might like to stop off in the bathroom as you’re passing.’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘To look at the gaps around the pipes.’

  ‘Don’t gaps around pipes all look the same?’

  ‘Not when there are no gaps around the pipes.’

  ‘Are you saying there are no gaps around the pipes?’

  ‘I thought that was fairly obvious.’

  He strode along the hallway and into the bathroom.

  Perkins stood behind him and began pointing. ‘As you can see . . .’

  ‘Yes, I can see. I don’t need you to point out that the pipes all have sealant around them.’ He was quiet for a moment then said, ‘Get one of your people in here to double check that there are no gaps that could let blood seep through into the bathroom below. I don’t want to go down there and make a fool of myself if what she says is true.’

  ‘Okay, Sir.’

  He headed towards the lift.

  Louise and Byrd were both back on duty standing outside the flat.

  ‘Are you sure you don’t want to come clean about the chart?’ he asked them.

  ‘We both have a weight chart for different reasons,’ Louise said. ‘I could explain . . .’

  ‘Don’t worry, I’m going to find out about that chart if it’s the last thing I do.’

  Byrd gave him a crooked grin. ‘Good luck, Sir.’

  He walked along the corridor and pressed for the lift. When it arrived he stepped inside and pushed the “G” button.

  Why wouldn’t they tell him about the chart? It was probably a wind-up as Kline had said. He was probably sitting at the top of the chart, and they were telling him he was at the bottom. How could he be at the bottom? He was a good DI, wasn’t he?

  The lift doors opened. He stepped into the lobby and made his way outside.

  Kline was sitting on a small brick wall opposite the entrance waiting for him.

  When she saw him walk out of the door, she ran and hugged him. ‘God, it’s good to see a friendly face again.’

  ‘You think I have a friendly face?’

  ‘Not really, but you know what I mean.’

  They sat on the wall next to each other.

  ‘What have you been up to?’ he asked her.

  ‘Nothing. What could I do? I couldn’t go up, I couldn’t go down, there was no one in the flats except that crazy fucking bitch with the pointy hat. I just had to sit in the corridor and wait for the lift to start working again.’

  ‘Have you had lunch?’

  ‘No. Have you?’

  ‘What I had couldn’t be considered lunch, so no I haven’t had lunch. Is your watch working?’

  ‘No. The clock on my phone doesn’t work either.’

  He walked to the forensic truck. Led Zeppelin’s “Stairway to Heaven” was blasting from the driver’s cab. He banged on the door.

  The window wound down and the music pounded out. A head appeared. It was a female head with a red neckerchief tied over the top like an old-fashioned scarf. She wore a red sleeveless tank top, a plethora of g
old chains round her neck and a pair of fingerless black leather gloves. ‘Yeah?’

  He could have sworn the truck driver was a man. Maybe he’d been mistaken. He’d obviously seen the tattoo on her forearm and made an incorrect assumption.

  ‘You couldn’t turn the music down, could you?’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘So that I don’t have to shout.’

  ‘No.’

  ‘Oh, okay. Have you got the time?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘And?’

  ‘Quarter past four.’

  ‘In the afternoon?’

  She looked at the sky. ‘What do you think?’ she said, and wound the window up.

  As he walked back to Kline, he wondered where the day had gone.

  ‘Well?’

  ‘It’s quarter past four.’

  ‘What! In the afternoon?’

  ‘That’s what I said.’

  ‘Fuck’s sake.’

  ‘Should we go and get something to eat before we go back inside?’

  ‘Too fucking true.’

  When they reached his Mercedes they found it had been completely stripped – no wheels, no engine, no seats – anything worth taking had been taken.

  ‘That was a waste of twenty pounds,’ Kline said.

  ‘So it would seem.’ Ruth would go mad. Would he be able to claim on his insurance? How was he going to get home? The one day Kline couldn’t get a pool car and they had to come to Apocalypse Heights. ‘We’ll have to walk then.’

  ‘Fuck’s sake,’ Kline said as they set off along the road to find somewhere to eat.

  ***

  ‘Well?’ he asked Perkins when they returned to the crime scene in Flat 27/3.

  ‘Definitely no gaps that blood could seep through.’

  He wondered why Safari Tremaine would lie when her claim could easily be checked.

  The Nodding Dog pub wasn’t far along the road, and although it was full of vermin from the local area, that’s where they decided to eat. The food was as bad as some of the dishes Safari Tremaine had tricked him into eating, but it filled a hole and gave him and Kline the opportunity to talk face-to-face.

  ‘What did you mean when you said the chart was a wind up?’ he asked her.

  She laughed. ‘You’re like a fucking dog with a bone. Forget about the chart – it’s a wind-up.’

  ‘If you could just tell me . . .’

  ‘Nobody’s gonna tell you squat about the chart.’

  ‘But why?’

  ‘That’s the rules.’

  ‘Whose rules? You’re my partner . . .’

  ‘Yes . . . I’m well aware of that gargoyle on my back, but not for much longer.’

  ‘What! You begged me to take you on as my partner.’

  ‘That was before I found out some things . . .’

  ‘What things?’

  ‘I’ve already said too much.’

  ‘You’re winding me up.’

  ‘Of course I am.’

  ‘Come on, tell me what things. I promise I won’t say anything to anybody.’

  ‘What about the murder?’

  ‘I’m not telling you about the murder until you tell me about the chart.’

  She laughed. ‘Okay, I’ll go home then.’

  He had no choice but to tell her what he’d found out. She wasn’t going to tell him anything about the chart. In fact, it didn’t look as though anybody was going to tell him about the chart. Maybe it was time to forget about the chart before it became an obsession and took over his life.

  ‘The pathologist is missing as well,’ he said as they walked back along Toad Road to the high-rise.

  ‘Missing?’

  ‘She should be on her way here, but . . .’ He shrugged. ‘And she’s not answering her phone.

  ‘This is turning into a weird case.’

  ‘That’s for sure.’ He didn’t tell her about Mara Ingatestone forcing him to have sex, the circumstances surrounding his lost phone, or about the tasting session with Safari Tremaine.

  They stood outside looking up at the massive monolith of Apocalypse Heights.

  ‘Maybe we shouldn’t go back in,’ Kline suggested.

  ‘If we don’t, who will? We’re paid to investigate a murder, and that’s exactly what we have to do.’

  They caught the lift up to the twenty-seventh floor again, but this time without incident.

  ‘You’re absolutely sure there’s no way in hell that blood could have seeped through into the bathroom below?’ he said to Perkins.

  ‘One hundred and ten percent.’

  ‘Is that even a number?’

  ‘No, but it’s a figure of speech.’

  ‘Okay, I’ll go downstairs and ask Miss Tremaine what she’s playing at.’ He glanced at Kline. ‘I want you to search the flat for anything relating to witchcraft, Satanism, cult members and so on. Up to now, we have lots of evidence but no leads. Find me some names, Kline.’

  ‘I’ll try.’

  He walked down the stairs to the twenty-sixth floor and knocked on Flat 26/3.

  The door opened.

  Safari Tremaine was standing there in her red “Kiss the Cook” apron, but her clothes were missing.

  His mouth dropped open like the drawbridge to a castle.

  She dragged him in and shut the door. ‘I knew you’d come back.’

  ‘I want to ask you some more questions. I want to know why you lied to me.’

  ‘You know the rules – you give me something and I give you something.’ She took his hand and led him into the bedroom.

  He noticed two vertical jagged scars the size of his hand on her back and wondered how she had come by them.

  She began undressing him.

  ‘I hardly think this is necessary, Miss Tremaine,’ he said, but he didn’t try to fight her off. For some strange reason he felt powerless to stop her. Maybe he didn’t want to stop her. Subconsciously, maybe this was what he had really come down here for – to see her naked, to make love to her, to empty his seed into her. The kiss she had given him during his earlier visit was merely foreplay – an invitation to partake of something more physical. Her small firm breasts and hard flat stomach made him want her more – he had to have her.

  ‘Safari,’ she said.

  ‘Safari,’ he whimpered, struggling to force the name through his parched lips. ‘Haven’t you got recipes to write, spiders to catch, or brains to boil?’

  ‘No – you’re what I need, Quigg.’ She pushed him onto the bed and sat astride him.

  In his fevered state he thought he saw a pointed tail flick through the air behind her.

  ‘You’re mine,’ she said pushing down on him.

  Involuntarily, he thrust upwards to meet her, and felt as though a sliver of ice had pierced his heart.

  He shivered.

  She mistook the shudder for an orgasm. ‘No, no – not yet, my love. Together – that is the only way.’ She stroked his face with a hand that felt rough and hard. ‘Give me everything – everything you possess. Hold nothing back.’

  Just when he thought he would leap over the cliff like a lemming, she pulled him back. Until . . . he knew that he had to empty himself into her.

  Everything – he gave her everything. He held nothing back.

  She screamed and flopped on top of him like a sodden fish. ‘The next time will be even better, my love.’

  ***

  He was sprawled face down and half-naked in the corridor near the lift. His trousers were round his ankles, and his shirt and tie weren’t done up.

  Where was he? What had happened? Why was he out here in the corridor again? He remembered being at the crime scene, walking down the stairs and knocking on Flat 26/3 . . . then what?

  Why had he come down here in the first place? What was he doing? He felt drowsy, weak and he was sure clumps of cotton wool had been stuffed into his head to replace his brain. He was having trouble formulating his thoughts and recalling his memories.

  He struggled to
push himself up the wall, pulled his trousers up and tried to button his shirt, but his eyes wouldn’t focus, his fingers wouldn’t work. God he was tired, and hungry . . . When had he last eaten?

  ‘Christ!,’ Kline said, rushing to take his arm and hold him up against the wall. ‘You look like shit. What the fuck happened? Have you been mugged?’

  ‘The beer I had in the pub must have been something more than just beer.’

  ‘I’ve a good mind to ring the drug squad and get them to raid that fucking place. Did you speak to that lying bitch in 26/3?’

  ‘Who . . . ? What . . . ?’

  ‘You were coming down here to find out why the woman in Flat 26/3 had lied about the blood seeping through gaps around the pipes in the bathroom upstairs.’

  ‘Was I? . . . Yes, I vaguely remember . . .’ What the hell was happening to him?

  ‘Come on,’ she said helping him towards the lift. ‘Let’s get you upstairs. Maybe a cup of tea with some sugar in it will sort you out. You’re skin’s all white . . . like one of those amnesiac people . . .’

  ‘Amnesia? Yes . . . I think I have amnesia.’

  ‘Maybe Perkins can give you an iron injection, or something.’

  ‘For amnesia?’

  ‘No, it’s not amnesia. It’s . . . anaemia, isn’t it? I hate words that sound the fucking same.’

  He held onto the handrail, and together they climbed the stairs back up to the twenty-seventh floor.

  She sat him in the kitchen and made him a tea with three sugars. ‘Drink,’ she said pushing a steaming mug into his hands.

  He drank. Slowly, his head began to clear. ‘I’m feeling a bit better now,’ he said. ‘Thanks. I’m sure that if you told me about the chart, I’d be back to my old self in no time.’

  Kline smiled. ‘Yeah, you’re feeling better. So, tell me what happened down there.’

  He tried to piece it all together. ‘I knocked on the door . . .’

  ‘That’s a good start. Did the bitch open it?’

  ‘Yes . . . I went inside.’

  ‘Okay, good. Did you ask her why she lied?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘And?’

  ‘She denied lying.’

  ‘Well, she would, wouldn’t she?’

  ‘Weren’t the two constables first on the scene? Didn’t they see the blood running down the walls?’